


i let go, i fell in

by susanpevensie (steelthighsvoideyes)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, M/M, Slow Burn, Tags will update as needed, not Hate to Love but Distrustful to Choosing to Trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-05 23:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelthighsvoideyes/pseuds/susanpevensie
Summary: Gabriel Reyes is a senior in college intent on simply surviving his remaining year as an ROTC kid on scholarship before ending up in the military. Get in, get out, remain unseen, and create no expectations: that's what college was supposed to be. However, when Gabriel receives an alert saying he's missing a major graduation requirement, he's thrust into a class he doesn't want to be in. Even worse, he has to endure a semester long partner project--and with the university's star quarterback, Jack Morrison, no less.The universe isn't going to let Gabriel drift through that easily. Not without forcing him to find himself first.





	1. Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat down to write this because I noticed most of the Reaper76 archive is full of angst, some real obscene sex, and touches of racism. Or a combo of all three. And I just wanted to do something good and happy but still touching Important Subjects (like racism) with Gabe and Jack.
> 
> I was originally going to post this as a oneshot, but then realized this was going to be a minimum of 20k words, so I decided to publish it as a chaptered fic so I'd be motivated to create a structured writing schedule since the semester is starting soon.
> 
> As mentioned, ships and character tags will update as I continue to write. I've just tagged what I know FOR SURE is popping up (because it's relevant to the plot).
> 
> Title is a lyric from Tug of War by Carly Rae Jepson.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: this is unbeta-ed so I'm really hoping there aren't too many mistakes.

All Gabriel Reyes wanted to do was get into college and then survive those four years without incident.

 

His family isn’t the most affluent, so to avoid going to the community college 10 minutes from his block and get some space, he’d signed up for the ROTC program at the nearest big-name school on a whim to rake in that scholarship money. The plan from there on was to maintain the minimum GPA required from him, graduate on time, and then head straight to the Navy to serve the years he signed over in exchange for all that education funding. And then? Well, maybe he’ll just reenlist. Serve a couple more years until he found a hobby he could make a career out of. Or maybe the Navy would become his hobby. Who knows?

 

Truth is, Gabriel isn’t really one for foresight. He never really looks past a few months into his future at most. He’s usually more focused on getting by on a day to day basis, living on gut instinct and in-the-moment intuition. Planning his life always just seemed unnecessary.

 

Which is probably how he’s ended up here, glaring smoking holes into his laptop as he reads the email his academic advisor has sent him. It’s only two days before the start of the fall semester of his senior year. He’s already moved and settled into his dorm—a single, courtesy of his senior status and all things good and holy—and he was _just_ getting comfortable with college life again when he checks his school email and receives the Doom Email.

 

_Gabriel Reyes,_

_Our records indicate that you have yet to complete your Natural Sciences requirement, without which you will not be able to officially graduate in May and receive your diploma. It is highly recommended that you sign up for a Natural Sciences elective as soon as possible. The list of electives that will count towards your requirement are listed below._

Gabriel groans in frustration and drags a hand down his face. _You stupid ass Gabe,_ he thinks, silently scolding himself for neglecting to keep up with his degree requirements over the years. People usually knocked out their Gen Ed classes in their first two years, _especially_ Natural Sciences since those are a bitch to take if you aren’t a STEM major. The fact that he’s got to suffer through what was supposed to be a chill senior year is _killing_ him.

 

Quickly, Gabriel regains his composure and pulls his laptop closer, stretching his neck side to side and cracking his knuckles like he’s about to take on a sparring drill, and pulls up the class registration website. He goes down the provided elective list and plugs each class’s code in to check seat availability and times, starting with whatever sounded the easiest.

 

He tries all three introductory level Anthropology classes, the two Archaeology electives, and four Earth and Environmental Sciences lectures. All full.

 

 _“_ Fuck,” Gabriel mutters, copying and pasting with more fervor. It makes sense that all the classes he wants are taken; it’s two days before the start of the semester and every single student has gobbled up any class he could even _hope_ to do remotely well in.

 

There’s one open Astronomy section, but it conflicts with another class in his schedule, and he’s not about to rearrange what he’s already got just to fit this in, so Astronomy is out of the question.

 

The only Chemistry section left is Organic Chem, and honestly? To hell with that monster.

 

This leaves Gabriel with only Biology, Physics, Neuroscience, and Computer Science. His worst fucking nightmares. 

 

In the end, he manages to find one section that miraculously has an open seat _and_ fits his schedule: _Introduction to Robotics._ Not only is it a Physics elective, but it’s also in the evening, which completely destroys his plan to finish his days by 3pm.  

With a final frustrated huff, Gabriel shuts his laptop, tosses it to the other end of his bed, and flops down on his back. He’s aware that he should take responsibility for his oversight, but that doesn’t stop him from mentally cursing the academic advising faculty as colorfully as possible. It would’ve been really fucking nice to know he’d been missing the requirement earlier so he wouldn’t have to spend half of his _final year_ back in an underclassmen lecture hall, learning a subject he couldn’t give two shits about.

 

He prays to the Father, Son, the Holy Spirit, and the Virgin Mary for good measure for the smallest possibility that he’d be able to bullshit his way through this class.

 

* * *

It’s hot and dry as hell on the first day of classes, but Gabriel, a native to southern California, is hardly bothered by it as he pulls his customary black beanie further down his head. It’s just past noon and he’s fighting his way out of a classroom and past a swarm of students, following the commands of his growling stomach.

 

As his feet carry him to his usual lunch destination, he feels his phone vibrate in the deep pockets of his ROTC fatigues. Gabriel barely slows his pace as he fishes the phone out of his pocket, unsurprised to see two new messages from Ana.

 

**_Ana:_ ** _at our spot_

**_Ana_ ** _: hurry up tho, the hot sauce is almost gone_

Gabriel curses, shoots Ana a quick _“omw,”_ and picks up his pace. He’ll be damned if all the freshies deprive him of that hot sauce.

 

A few minutes later, Gabriel screeches to a halt in front of his favorite food truck, almost knocking a couple of students down in the process. His lungs are heaving from what had eventually turned into a sprint from the other end of campus, but the smell of the Korean-Mexican culinary fusion wafting from the truck reminds him that it was totally worth it.

 

His mouth is watering by the time it’s his turn to order, but when he asks for his rice to be topped with his favorite red chili hot sauce, the server shrugs sympathetically and informs him that they’d only _just_ run out.

 

When Gabriel finally slumps himself down on the open lawn opposite Ana, he’s got a scowl plastered on his face, grumbling in union with his stomach.

 

“The freshies beat you to it?” Ana asks, amused, as she scoops a spoonful of meat and rice into her mouth. She’s also in her ROTC uniform, though she’s removed her boots and set them aside.

 

“They are absolute _leeches,_ ” Gabriel replies. He thoroughly mixes the portions of his meal before digging in with rigor. The moment the familiar flavors hit his tongue, he throws his head back and lets out a moan of delight. “ _God,_ I’m starving. I forgot how much morning drills take out of a guy.”

 

“No kidding,” Ana replies, rolling her right shoulder. “I spoiled myself way too much over the break.”

 

“Yeah? Didn’t bother maintaining a beach bod?”

 

“Oh please, all I _did_ was lay on the beach. That’s why I barely managed today’s sprint drills. The sun has softened me.”

 

The two spend the next half an hour catching up while devouring their lunch. Ana talks about her time with her family, and how nice it was to finally just spend some time with them instead of busying herself with part time jobs like she normally did every break. Gabriel reflects on his brief gig as an apprentice to mechanic and family friend just down the street, and how he found he had a knack for taking things apart and putting them back together. But mostly taking them apart.

 

Soon they’re both lying on their backs, thoroughly stuffed and soaking up the California sun. There are students milling about all over the place, but they barely register it. They’re veterans of this god forsaken campus. They feel like royalty.

 

“Can you believe it Gabe?” Ana asks in breathless awe, breaking their comfortable silence. “We’re _seniors._ We made it.”

 

The corners of Gabriel’s lips twitch up into a pure and unadulterated grin as he drinks in Ana’s words. She’s right. After three grueling years of drills, classes, exams, and just school in general, they’ve finally reached the end. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and, despite the fact that the path afterwards is blurry, he’ll finally be free of every burden school’s ever dumped on his shoulders.

 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “We really did.”

 

He hears a rustling beside him and turns his head over to see Ana sit herself up. She runs a hand through her hair and begins to collect her belongings.

 

“I’d better haul ass,” she says, pulling her boots back on and heaving herself to her feet. “Got class in 10. Wanna head to the gym around 4? I could use some weight training.”

 

Gabriel’s about to pounce on the offer—he’d worked all summer to finally be able to bench press more than Ana—when his phone buzzes, an alert for his Robotics class flashing across the screen.

 

He lets out the most exasperated sigh and tosses his phone haphazardly towards his backpack.

 

“Can’t,” he grunts, dragging both hands down his face, stretching the skin beneath his eyes in the hopes of making a face as ghastly as he feels. “I’ve got this underclassmen Robotics class. I forgot to knock out my Natural Sciences requirement apparently.”

 

Ana grimaces and nudges Gabriel’s shoulder with the tip of her boot.

 

“Apparently? _Gabe,_ ” she admonishes.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s my fault, blah blah blah,” Gabriel replies, lifting his back up off the grass and sitting up straight. “Won’t stop me from complaining like hell about it, though.”

 

Ana scoffs, shouldering her backpack. “Yeah, I know. And I’ll get the worst of it.”

 

Gabriel gazes up at her and sends her a shit-eating grin. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

 

The other kicks him with her boot one more time before giving him a two-fingered salute and turning away.

 

“Have fun swimming with the guppies!” she calls over her shoulder.

 

Gabriel flashes two middle fingers at her back before flopping back onto the lawn.

 

* * *

Gabriel ends up falling asleep in the lazy heat of the sun, his head against his backpack and his beanie over his face. His phone had jerked him out of his midday nap, dutifully alerting him of the start of his Robotics class with an angry sounding buzz, as if to display annoyance at having the sole responsibility of getting him to class on time.

 

Between back-talking his phone under his breath and dreading that his neck and arms are now a shade darker than his face, Gabriel noisily stumbles into the classroom 10 minutes late.

 

Mercifully, the professor has only just started taking attendance, still on the letter _H_ in last names on the list, and Gabriel sends a silent prayer upward that he’d been born into the Reyes family. It’s also the first day of classes for the year, so most professors adopt a temporary policy of leniency, fully expecting students—especially the freshmen—to get hopelessly lost before arriving at their intended destinations. The professor, a short fellow with a large face and comparatively larger beard, only barely spares Gabriel a glance before going back to calling off and mispronouncing names on the attendance sheet.

 

Except, first day of classes also means students scrambling to get to class as quickly as possible to strategically pick the seat of their choice because according to some unwritten code that seems to be stronger than a blood pact, where you sit on the first day is your permanent seat for the rest of the semester.

 

So Gabriel is only mildly surprised to find most of the seats already filled, their occupants—many of whom were previously whispering intensely—all looking over their shoulders to appraise the latecomer. Still huffing to control his breathing, Gabriel scans the room, eyes landing on the only seat open. The classroom has a lab-style set up—high black table tops and bar stool type chairs—and the open seat is in the back left corner. As Gabriel trudges his way over, he remarks that it’s got the worst view of the professor and the whiteboard. Fuckin perfect.

 

Gabriel’s backpack lands on the ground beneath the chair with a loud _thump_ , which catches the attention of the Asian guy sitting next to him. He perks up slightly from his lazy slouch and glances over, a fine eyebrow raised in curiosity. Gabriel shoots the guy a look of his own, silently daring him to pass a condescending judgement. A look of questioning only briefly flashes across the guy’s face before he shrugs and goes back to looking forward at the professor.

 

His neighbor seems incredibly familiar, but Gabriel can’t quite place him, so he shrugs as well and takes to settling his cheek on his fist and spacing out until his name is called.

 

Gabriel’s little reverie is broken a few letters of the alphabet too soon when the professor calls out, “John Morrison.”

 

A boy with close cropped blond hair all the way in the front of the room—his seat suggesting he was one of the first to come in—raises his arm halfway and speaks up.

 

“Um, I go by Jack.”

 

The whispers that had filled the air just before Gabriel had shown up resume, the reason for them occurring to him just a second later. Jack Morrison? The university’s star senior quarterback? In an underclassmen Gen Ed elective? Gabriel lets out a low whistle and chuckles under his breath. He might have it bad, but at least he isn’t Jack “Golden Boy” Morrison right now.

 

The dude next to him, instead of drawing his breath in awe like most everyone else in the room, also lets out an amused snort, and Gabriel immediately decides there are worse people to sit next to.

 

To Jack’s credit, he doesn’t make a show of his status as a campus celebrity once his presence is announced. Instead, he simply returns to his original attentive position and doesn’t take his eyes off the professor. Somehow, this annoys Gabriel more.

 

The professor finally calls out _Gabriel Reyes_ , to which Gabriel responds with a lifted hand and a gruff “ _present,”_ and immediately proceeds to name a _Genji Shimada,_ to which the guy next to him says _“I’m here.”_

Gabriel’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, surprise creeping on him twice in the span of a few minutes. He _knew_ this guy had been familiar. The younger half of the sibling pair famously rumored to be sons of a Japanese crime lord is his seat neighbor. Incredible.

 

Genji, perhaps sensing Gabriel’s silent remarking of him, turns to him once again, this time flashing him a quick grin. Gabriel grins back.

 

The star quarterback and a mini yakuza boy both in his Intro to Robotics class? Maybe it would be an interesting one after all.

 

* * *

The class is one of the most complex and downright boring lectures Gabriel has ever had to sit through.

 

The professor, as soon as he had finished with attendance, primly introduced himself as Professor Torbjorn and listed his numerous degrees that qualified him to teach Robotics, before turning to the whiteboard and launching into an incredibly passionate speech about the early mechanics of robots.

 

By the time an hour and a half has passed, the whiteboard is covered in esoteric diagrams and messy annotations, none of which makes it into the notebook Gabriel has out in front of him. Instead, the end of the hour finds Gabriel slack-jawed, eyes heavy-lidded. He snaps his head up when Genji elbows him lightly in the arm and grimaces in disdain at his empty notebook as the sound of people stuffing their backpacks fills the air.

 

“Uh, hey, could I borrow your no—” Gabriel starts, hoping Genji’ll be generous enough to let him copy his lecture notes, when he glances down at the other’s notebook and finds it to be just as blank as his is.

 

“Sorry,” Genji says sheepishly. “I didn’t catch a word the prof said.”

 

Gabriel closes notebook with a huff and bends over to pick his backpack up off the floor.

 

“Dammit. You looked like you were paying attention.”

 

Genji shoulders his bag and smirks.

 

“If only. But at least I didn’t fall asleep like somebody did.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Gabriel asks begrudgingly and returning the elbow jab. “And how’d you manage that?”

 

“There’s a pretty blonde in the second row,” Genji replies simply, shrugging.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel spots a simple yet pretty girl with thick, blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail gathering her belongings. He rolls his eyes and snorts.

 

“Guess you gotta do what you gotta do.”

 

Just as he’s sliding out of his chair and heading for the door, Professor Torbjorn clears his throat in a request for undivided attention.

 

“If you’ve prepared and read the syllabus, you’ll be aware that a large component of your grade in this class will come from your semester-long group project. I’ll have the rubric as well as your assigned partners ready for you next class. Until then, good evening and good night!”

 

This announcement stops Gabriel dead in his tracks, dread crawling up his spine like the spindly hands of a vicious spectre. _Group project._ The two words are stuff of nightmares. He shudders, cursing himself for not having read the syllabus and braced himself for this inevitability. Beside him, Genji is also frozen, eyes wide. Well. That makes two of them.

 

* * *

Ana gives up halfway through her ab workout and sets aside the exercise ball because she can’t stop laughing. Gabriel’s scowl, which deepens with every in-place lunge he does, only makes matters worse. Granted, the sight of a guy frowning so intensely while sinking into a deep lunge—hands on his hips, knee almost to the floor—is objectively a scene of comedy, but nothing about the current situation is doing anything to alleviate Gabriel’s current mood.

 

“Seriously Ana, it’s not that funny,” he grumbles, counting his lunge under his breath with a wince. Leg day can suck a dick.

 

It’s early evening, only half an hour after Gabriel got out of his robotics class, and he and Ana are at the university’s gym in an attempt to fit a workout in just before dinner. Most of the school’s athletes and gym rats seem to have a similar idea because every treadmill and elliptical in sight is occupied, and the free weights room they’re currently in is packed to the brim. Gabriel silently and begrudgingly notes that they’ll probably have to reschedule their daily workouts to sometime in the morning instead. 

 

“Oh, it’s pretty funny,” Ana counters, leaning back on her gym mat with her forearms beneath her head. “You’re stuck in a mandatory underclassmen class because you forgot to finish your Gen Eds, it’s some bullshit physics class, _and_ you have to do a semester-long team project. Forget semester-long, a team project in general.”

 

She laughs to herself for a few more seconds before turning her head towards him.

 

“Oh Gabe,” she says fondly. “I’m gonna have such a fun time watching you combust this year.”

 

“First of all, it’s a robotics class,” Gabriel answers, using the necessity to defend his dignity as an excuse to stop lunging. “And second of all, go fuck yourself man.”

He reaches for his water bottle, snaps the top off, and downs about half of it in 3 seconds.

 

“Okay, so it’s a _fancy_ physics class then. I respect that,” Ana says as Gabriel sits himself down on his own gym mat, though he doesn’t start his Russian twists yet. “I’m still surprised you don’t need a physics pre-req or something for it. It sounds rough.”

 

“Hell if I know. They probably figured if you went to a decent high school, you got at least some physics down,” Gabriel replies, shrugging. “All my physics teacher did was have us watch Bill Nye videos and munch on a tuna sandwich. _Everyday._ The same damn tuna sandwich.”

 

Ana sucks in a breath and hoists herself into an upright sitting position, eye level with Gabriel. The teasing and mirth are gone from her eyes, replaced with sympathy instead, smoothing over her usually sharp features like silk covering the curves of a body. Ana, while rough and quick-witted on the outside, hosts a calm and nurturing persona unknown to all but a few, and the look she now gives Gabriel is not one of pity, but of caring.

 

“Hey,” she says, punching his arm lightly. “You’ll get through it, okay? You always do.”

 

Gabriel’s frown evaporates soon after Ana’s laugh does, and he lets out a deep sigh, hanging his head between his knees and running his hands through sweat-slicked hair.

 

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbles, closing his eyes and letting his head just hang there for a few more seconds before resurfacing and resting his forearms on his knees.

 

“Well, I guess at least I’ll be entertained,” he continues, facing Ana again, this time with a smirk. “Did I tell you? Jack fuckin Morrison is in that class too. I think the poor fucker’s in the same boat as me if you can believe it.”

 

“Jack? Really?” Ana asks, eyebrows raised. “Huh, that’s interesting. Never pegged him as someone as careless as you.”

 

Gabriel furrows his brow. “You tellin me you know the guy?”

 

Ana shrugs. “Yeah he was in one of my classes freshman year. Calc 1, I think? It was an 8am class and I barely managed to stay awake, but I remember he always sat up in the front. Only guy who bothered to memorize when office hours were, so people just asked him instead of emailing the professor. Somehow didn’t miss a single class.”

 

“Huh, you never told me that. So he’s the starting quarterback _and_ a good student,” Gabriel huffs, grimacing internally. “Dude probably isn’t paying a single dime to be here then. This shithole’s probably wiping his ass with golden toilet paper.”

 

“Your imagery is, as always, incredibly spectacular,” Ana snorts, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, it just didn’t seem important. He was barely more than an acquaintance, if that. You should try getting one someday. They help.”

“What, acquaintances? I have acquaintances,” Gabriel says indignantly.

 

As if on cue, his phone, which is sitting in the haphazard tangle of his headphones near his feet, buzzes. Gabriel flattens out his legs and stretches past his toes to grab it, briefly looking at the notification on the screen, then showing it to Ana triumphantly.

 

“See?” he grins. “That’s Jesse asking to meet for a drink. I’ve got other people besides you, babe.”

 

That earns him a sharp look and another punch in the arm, this one actually intending to sting. It’s Gabriel’s turn to laugh for once, and he does so while he shoots Jesse a quick confirmation text. Ana punches him once again.

 

When Gabriel tosses his phone back to where it was and looks up again, Ana has substituted her look of irritation with an absolutely conniving grin.

 

 “Hey, what if Jack’s your assigned project partner? You two being seniors and all.”

 

Gabriel’s eyes widen at the words that come out of Ana’s mouth, then narrow into a shriveling glare.

 

“Nuh uh, no way. You take that back right now you little shit.”

 

Ana bursts into a fit of cackles, falling back down onto her back and clutching her stomach. Gabriel reaches a leg over and kicks her in the shin, which only proceeds to make her howl even louder. Several other people in the free weights room shoot them annoyed looks. Gabriel gives as many of the others students the best stink eye he can muster before picking up the exercise ball Ana abandoned and furiously launching into his Russian Twists.

 

He tunes out Ana until she’s just another part of the background noise and counts each twist while simultaneously attempting to nullify his friend’s curse by aggressively listing out every reason why such a team up would absolutely _suck_. He simply does not have time to deal with a white boy superstar and try-hard in a class that he doesn’t understand and doesn’t want to be in.

 

Though, he doesn’t actually have a personal grudge against Jack Morrison, considering he doesn’t actually _know_ the guy. It’s more like the idea of working in a team really irks Gabriel—he’s probably the worst team player out there—and, while having to work with a random _underclassman_ sounds absolutely dreadful, Jack’s the only person whose name he knows in the class, so it’s easier for Gabriel to take his frustrations out on him. Well, there’s Genji too. And judging by his blank notebook and casual slouch, he probably wouldn’t make much of a great partner, either. But somehow, working with the youngest son of a rich Japanese crime lord seems _slightly_ more appealing than being partnered with the Everyone’s Favorite White ~~Savior~~ Superstar.

 

“Gabe,” Ana calls out, her voice leaking through his thoughts, which begin to fade away once he’s come the realization that he’s counted 100 twists.

 

He does 25 more for good measure.

 

“Gabe,” Ana calls again. She’s sitting up again now and attempts to win back his attention by swatting the back of her hand against his thigh. “Come on, wanna just hit the bench press a bit and get out of here? I’m _starving_.”

 

As soon as Ana mentions being hungry, Gabriel’s stomach responds in kind, nudging him towards the idea of dinner.

 

“Fine,” he replies, setting aside the exercise ball. As he pushes himself to his feet, he lets out the most exasperated and dramatic sigh he can manage to let Ana know that she’s still on thin ice.

 

Ana merely rolls her eyes and mutters something about Gabriel being a big baby as she begins to roll up her gym mat.

 

Once they’ve migrated to the benches, Gabriel volunteers to lift first while Ana spots him, and he can barely hide his glee as he adds an additional 10 lbs than he normally lifts to the bar. Ana’s been able to out-lift him since the day they first met in freshman year, and he’s worked hard—doubly so this past summer—to finally be able to bench heavier than she can. Ana gives him a look of approval, and Gabriel proceeds to push through 3 reps.

 

As he finishes, he gets up to wipe down the bench and make way for Ana, who congratulates him on the accomplishment with an enthusiastic pat on the back. Gabriel’s riding the high of his accomplishment, grin stretched wide from cheek to cheek, when Ana adds an additional 5 lbs to the bar.

 

Gabriel’s grin vanishes instantly.

 

“What the actual _shit_ Ana?” he exclaims, jaw dropping to the floor. “ _How?_ I thought you said all you did this summer was lay on the beach!”

 

The shit-eating grin that was originally on his face is now mirrored on hers as she proceeds to lay on the bench.

 

“Is that what I said?” Ana replies, grasping the bar in a firm grip. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

 

“I swear to god, one day you’ll run out of weights. Then what’ll you lift. Me?”

 

Ana winks. “That’s the goal.”

 

* * *

 

Because Intro to Robotics is an underclassmen Ged Ed, it meets more frequently than the upperclassmen seminars do, which is why Gabriel is stuck in a classroom on a Friday evening—something he hasn’t had to do since the fall semester of his sophomore year. Normally, he’d just be up early, head to his ROTC drills, get brunch with Ana, and then unceremoniously pass out until it was an acceptable time to head out into town and get trashed.

 

Now, with this class throwing a wrench into the lifestyle Gabriel had become so used to over the past year and a half, his Friday stamina is hitting the reserves, and he’s somewhere in a limbo between being awake and dead five minutes into Torbjorn’s rambling. That and he just doesn’t want to be here.   

 

Genji looks over at his slumped mess of a figure and raises an eyebrow, as if appraising a pathetic rain-drenched street cat with pity.

 

“You look awful,” he says, painfully stating the obvious. “Classes started Wednesday. It’s only Friday.”

 

“ _Only_ Friday? Gee thanks,” Gabriel mutters, then sighs. “It must feel nice to be young.”

 

“Just hit twenty-one and already ready to retire?” Genji teases.

 

“Actually I’m about to hit twenty-two, so respect your elders, you teenaged punk.”

 

Genji frowns. “I’m nineteen.”

 

Gabriel sits up, folds his arms, and smirks. “Yeah, Shimada. Nine _teen._ ”

 

Genji proceeds to jab him hard in a cushy part of his forearm with an elbow, prompting Gabriel to yelp an “ _ow!”_ and kick his neighbor in the shin in retaliation.

 

This quickly devolves into a petty and disruptive child-like skirmish and, not a moment later, Professor Torbjorn’s disapproving voice booms in their direction,

 

“Is there something more important than what I’m teaching that you’d like to share with the class, gentlemen?”

 

The two of them freeze, what with the professor and the entirety of the class now looking over in their direction, and Gabriel hates how this doesn’t feel any different from getting called out in elementary school.

 

“No,” they both mumble, neither of them looking up at the professor.

 

In his peripheral vision Gabriel spots Jack Morrison up in the front looking back at him and Genji over his shoulder, both eyebrows up at his hairline. On the other side of the room, the blonde girl with the ponytail whom Genji thought was cute is trying her hardest not to laugh. Gabriel feels heat rise to the tip of his ears as he registers everyone’s eyes on him. The last thing he needs is the entire class, including the professor, to be aware of his existence because that means they’ll all start expecting things from him when he’s got absolutely nothing to give them.

 

Torbjorn narrows his eyes at the pair of them before turning back to the white board, and the rest of the class follows. Gabriel shoots Genji one last stink eye for good measure, then slumps back into his original position, and proceeds to zone out until the end of the hour.

 

His state of reverie is interrupted fifteen minutes early when Torbjorn announces that he’s finalized the lab partner list and is going to read it aloud now so that they can all use the last couple of minutes of class time to meet with their partners and exchange contact info.

 

Gabriel straightens in his seat and curses silently. He’d forgotten all about the partner project after his conversation with Ana on Wednesday evening and he _still_ hasn’t bothered to check the syllabus. He still has no idea what the project even is.

 

Torbjorn heads over to where his laptop is propped open in the corner of the room, and, a few seconds later, starts calling out names in pairs.

 

The blonde ponytail girl, whose name turns out to be Angela, is paired with a girl with short brown hair sitting right in front of her—much to Genji’s quiet disappointment. Gabriel snorts loud enough for his neighbor to hear it.

 

A few more pairs later and neither Gabriel nor Genji have been called yet, and Gabriel’s getting antsy. He’s wondering if he should mentally prepare himself for a semester of crashing and burning and doom should he and Genji have the misfortune of being partners—especially now that they’re probably both on Torbjorn’s shit-list and professors are awfully petty people—when he hears,

 

“Genji Shimada and Tekharta Zenyatta.”

 

Next to him, Genji eyes the room, brows furrowed because he has absolutely no idea who the person assigned as his partner is, when the kid sitting just next to Angela turns around, smiles, waves. He’s a knobby-looking dark skinned guy, with a buzz cut, ears that stick out, circle-frame glasses that hide long eyelashes, and dimples. Genji starts, rapidly blinking his eyes, as if he’s only just recognized the other boy’s existence.

 

Gabriel exhales. Well, that’s one disaster scenario he’s avoided. Now he’s just gotta hope he’s got enough luck left over to avoid Ana’s prophecy and—

 

“And because you both are the only two seniors—so you’ll likely have less rigorous weekly academic commitments and, therefore, compatible schedules—Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison, you two will be working together.”

 

Jack glances over his shoulder and delivers Gabriel a weak, two-fingered salute.

 

He hates Ana. Gabriel really really hates Ana.

 

* * *

Once Torbjorn’s finished pairing everyone up and prattling on a little further about time management and commitment throughout the semester, he releases the students to mill about the room and awkwardly shuffle past each other to meet up with their partners.

 

Genji gets out of his seat to head over to his partner because Angela has left to chat with hers. Everyone else similarly plays through this puzzle, silently deciding amongst themselves who is going to bother gathering their stuff and moving depending on who has an open seat next to them.

 

With Genji gone, Gabriel’s wide open, so he folds his arm and leans back in his chair, waiting for Jack to head over to his table. That’s when he notices that Jack somehow also has an empty seat next to him, and he’s waiting for the exact same thing.

 

Gabriel tightens his crossed arms and mentally cements his butt into his chair, his gaze intense and focused in the blond boy’s direction. He’s determined to establish that, if they’re gonna have to work together for the whole semester, they’re gonna have to play by some of Gabriel’s rules.

 

Jack merely turns around in his chair and returns Gabriel’s stare, equally unmoving. In this instant, they are unstoppable force meets immovable object—except they each are both force and object in this case, and that just makes this a more difficult issue to resolve. Somewhere in the back of Gabriel’s head he can hear Ana’s voice scolding him about the stupidity of the male need to establish dominance, but he quickly suppresses that—he’s _totally_ justified right now.

 

In the end, it’s Jack who’s forced to move from his seat because their classmates have started to trickle out of the room, and the people who are early for the next class right after them are wandering in—and you’re usually an early-arriver if you like sitting in the front.

 

Jack sighs when someone comes over and stands next to his table—a silent signal that they’re ready to take over the seat—and picks his backpack up off the floor, begrudgingly making his way over to the empty seat next to Gabriel.

 

Gabriel doesn’t hide his smug grin of victory.

 

“Well, you certainly kept me waiting, Morrison,” he says, swinging his chair around just slightly as the other dumps his backpack in the seat. He doesn’t sit down, and Gabriel feels vaguely like an all-powerful mob boss—unnecessarily theatric for the sake of appearances.

 

“You could have fixed that yourself if you wanted,” Jack retorts, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “Gabriel, right? Here, go ahead and put your number in.”

He hands Gabriel the phone with the Contacts app already open. Gabriel plugs in his number and saves it only as “Reyes” to make a point. When he hands the phone back to Jack, Jack briefly glances at the screen and his eyebrows shoot up, which lets Gabriel know he got the message.

 

“Reyes it is then,” Jack says, quickly tapping the screen a few times, probably to shoot Gabriel a text so he has his number, then pockets the phone again. “So what’s your schedule usually look like?”

 

Gabriel shrugs, finally uncrossing his arms. “I’m pretty flexible. I usually got morning drills and then I work out in the evenings. And aside from this class, all my other classes finish by noon, and attendance isn’t really mandatory.”

 

Jack nods as he speaks, spacing out in a way that indicates he’s trying to visualize how Gabriel’s schedule fits in with his.

 

“Okay, that works out pretty well. I’ve usually got morning practice too and finish classes by around 1pm just in case Coach schedules emergency practices. But since the season’s only just starting, there won’t be much of that right now. So I guess if we just time manage, we’ll be okay.”

 

“Right, sounds good to me,” Gabriel replies, reaching towards the ground for his backpack. He slides out of his seat and hoists it over his shoulder. “Just text me whenever, then.”

 

Jack mirrors Gabriel’s actions, shouldering his own bag and turning towards the classroom’s exit. “So, wanna meet this weekend to get a head start?”

 

“Uh, yeah, I can do that,” Gabriel says as the two of them both start heading out of the room. When they’re finally out in the hallway amongst a throng of other students, Gabriel turns to his partner and pauses.

 

“So, not that I haven’t read the syllabus or anything, but you wouldn’t happen to be a little clearer on what exactly we’re supposed to do, would you?”

 

Jack’s eyebrows furrow together and he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

 

“Not really? Just something about building a simple robot, or something. I, uh, haven’t had too much time to look into this class yet. It was kind of a last minute registration.”

 

Gabriel’s suspicions are confirmed: Jack isn’t here of his own volition, just like him. And he might be an overall good student, but he’s currently just as behind and unwilling in this class as Gabriel is, so Gabriel doesn’t have to worry about having to deal with a partner that lords their intellectual prowess over other people—at least not yet.

 

“Brilliant,” Gabriel states with a bright sarcasm. “Well, this is gonna be a ride.”

 

“You’re not wrong,” Jack sighs, then pushes his backpack up his shoulder again with a renewed sort of optimism. “Kay, I’m heading to dinner, so I’ll catch you this weekend Reyes.”

 

Gabriel shrugs in answer as Jack delivers him another two-fingered salute and heads off down the hallway, and he begins to do the same down the other direction. As he makes his way through the building at a leisurely pace, Gabriel reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone to shoot Ana a text and see if she’s off work yet so they can hit the gym.

 

When the screen lights up, a notification for two messages from an unknown number catches his eye—the “it’s me” texts from Jack.

 

 ** _+17653421984:_** _Hey, it’s Morrison_

**_+17653421984:_ ** _Jack, actually. But only if you’re feeling up to it_

Gabriel half-snorts and half-chokes at the subtle smugness of that last text. It’s a challenge, as if Jack’s figured out that goading him is his best chance at getting Gabriel into familiarity—or getting him to do anything, really.

 

Gabriel hates that it’s kind of working.

 

Kind of.

 

After staring at the message for two seconds, Gabriel congratulates himself for not taking the bait as he clicks _Create New Contact_ and saves the number as _Morrison._ He briefly contemplates adding a football emoji next to the name, but then decides that, after the other’s absolute audacity in his texts, he doesn’t deserve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: 765 is a real Indiana area code.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://sunmp3.tumblr.com) and [twitter.](http://twitter.com/satyasvaswani)
> 
> I hope to have the next chapter up within 2 weeks. If it's not up by the end of Feb 1, please kick me.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cue Friday night shenanigans and Jack choking on spicy food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually put this up before February ayyy. Thanks everyone for the support, and I hope this next chapter continues to meet expectations! 
> 
> Notes:  
> 1\. Fareeha is Ana's younger sister in this fic simply because I wanted to fit her and Ana both into this college AU. 
> 
> 2\. This school is vaguely written with UCLA in mind. I originally had them attending UCLA, but I didn't want to butcher the campus life since I don't go there, so just assume it's this universe's version of UCLA. 
> 
> 3\. I made Jesse only months younger than Gabe because I wanted him to be legal to drink. Gabe can't be going out with _two _minors because that's just irresponsible.__
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> _4\. Alcohol mentions in this chapter, heads up!_  
>   
> 
> __  
> _Again, this is unbeta-ed so hopefully there aren't too many errors._  
> 

The tavern’s surprisingly noisy for 8pm, but considering it’s Friday and the first week of classes—meaning everyone’s playing catch up with each other and the guy checking IDs is gonna give everyone a pass just this once—Gabriel isn’t really _too_ surprised. He’s currently occupying one side of a booth all the way in the back corner—a booth that he’s quite accustomed to—and is playing around with a glass of water, trying to see how much he can jostle it without letting the water spill out.

 

A group of juniors approach him and ask him if he plans on getting up and leaving any time soon, impatience laced in their body language, and Gabriel gives them the most fearsome glare he can muster. They turn away with a stream of bitter retorts and insults on their tongue, and Gabriel sighs, glancing over at his phone.

 

Jesse was supposed to have been here 15 minutes ago, but he’s still god-knows-where and Gabriel can only hold the booth for so long. His resting bitch face stopped working about five minutes ago, and, given the size of tonight’s crowd, he’ll likely be booted from the booth altogether in another five.

 

It’s not that Gabriel’s particularly keen to be here in the university’s tavern—a location a bit too trashy to really be called a tavern, but the word probably sticks as a way to maintain some form of dignity—and he’s certainly not about to rely on it as tonight’s supply of alcohol considering how overpriced it is, but meeting here is a formality. A neutral place that he and Jesse often utilize as a base of operations before heading out into the night to hit whatever frat house—rather, _houses_ —decided to throw that Friday’s rager. It’s tradition, which _being late_ definitely isn’t a part of.

 

(It actually is. Jesse’s hardly ever on time for anything.)

 

Gabriel spots another group of people making their way over out of the corner of his eye, and he grits his teeth. He’s in the middle of thinking, “ _Jesse, I swear to motherfuckin—_ ” when a familiar voice catches his attention.

 

 “Pardon me, darlin’, I’m just tryin’ to get to that table over there. Yeah, that grumpy guy’s a friend of mine, unfortunately. I’ll just squeeze through right here—”

 

Gabriel glances over to find the incredibly familiar and lumbering figure of Jesse McCree pushing its way through the gaggle of students. Once he’s successfully torn through the crowd and is free, he slips into the booth across from Gabriel, donning a sly and charming smile that’s meant to absolve him of his guilt.

 

It doesn’t.

 

“Do you just not understand the concept of punctuality, McCree?” Gabriel demands, crossing his arms to present himself as menacing as possible.

 

“Aw, Gabe,” Jesse sulks, his hand going over his heart, “I’m only five minutes late, and you’re demoting me to McCree? Ouch.”

 

“Fifteen, idiot,” Gabriel huffs, not letting up. “That’s more than enough for a demotion.”

 

“Okay, well, in my defense, I got held up because a certain _someone_ found out I was meetin’ ya and decided to tag along. So I was forced to painstakingly charm the bouncer so he’d let her through even though she’s underage.”

 

Before Gabriel can ask whom exactly Jesse’s referring too—though he’s got a pretty good idea who it is—he hears a loud and amused snort as the newcomer glides into the booth right next to him.

 

“Please,” Olivia says, rolling her eyes and twirling a strand of dyed-pink hair with her finger, “I have the best fake ID around. You just wanted an excuse to flirt with the guy.”

 

Gabriel does his best to keep the smirk off his face as Jesse stumbles through a retort and Olivia just cackles in response.

 

“So you were late _and_ you brought the gremlin? Jesse, you had _one_ job,” Gabriel teases, and he snickers when he feels Olivia pinch his forearm in protest, swatting her hand away.

 

“Hmph, well you can’t be _that_ bothered by it, considering I’m back to being Jesse again,” Jesse replies, grinning. “Besides, now the the gang’s back together again.”

 

He’s right. The gang _is_ back together again, though it’s really only Jesse who refers to the three of them as a “the gang.” Gabriel thinks the implied bond is a commitment he hardly ever works himself up to being comfortable with; he’s the kind of guy that keeps all but a select few at arm’s distance because things are just easier that way.

 

And Olivia’s a floater, drifting throughout the university’s giant population and never really setting her roots anywhere. Though, she’s probably the most networked person on campus as a result of this, having gathered at least a little bit of information on every cog and screw of the school as she wanders through crowds, never resting, but settling _just_ long enough to catch a drift of everyone’s business.

 

But the three of them do share some sort of connection, because, despite all of that, they end up coming together at some point or another.

 

In his freshman year, Gabriel—like every other enthusiastic and unthinking freshman—had signed up for a plethora of clubs at the university’s annual student activities fair, including the Latin American Student Association. At the time, he’d figured joining it could have been an opportunity to go to any of the club catering events or food outings in case he ever started missing his mom’s cooking. Aside from that, though, he hadn’t actually considered truly participating in LASA, or any of the clubs he’d signed up for to be completely honest.

 

What Gabriel didn’t realize until his sophomore year was that his being on LASA’s email list automatically enrolled him in the new mentorship program the association had decided to only just implement. So imagine his surprise when he one day received an email from LASA informing him that he’d been assigned a freshman mentee for the year, followed by an email from a Jesse McCree, stating that he’d been notified he’d been given a Gabriel Reyes as a mentor.

 

After insistence from Ana, who maintained that Gabriel was much to self-centered and some giving back would do him good—and at this point Gabriel had come to intensely respect and slightly fear the woman who could out-lift and out-shoot most everyone in their year—he finally agreed to meet his mentee.

 

Jesse McCree, Gabriel learned once they’d met, was half Mexican and a full on fan of the Westerns movie genre. He was New Mexico born and bred, had a questionable taste in style, and, while he’d attempted to pick it up during his four years at high school, had a really hard time speaking and understanding a single lick of Spanish.

 

Though he was a freshman, he and Gabriel were almost the same age—separated by a handful of months. Jesse explained how he’d taken a gap year after high school because, even though he’d received a significant amount of money in scholarships and grants, it still would have been too difficult for his family to pay for four years of school in California. So, while the rest of his peers moved on to higher education, he’d stayed behind and worked until he had enough to support himself where his family couldn’t.

 

The other boy was a societal in-betweener—not Mexican enough to be Mexican, but not white enough to be white—and, therefore, felt perpetually like an outsider in both communities. Joining LASA and continuing to take Spanish even after realizing picking up foreign languages wasn’t his fortitude was a way of trying to find himself. To find a place to fit in.

 

And Gabriel found himself sympathizing with Jesse. While he had a 100% Latin-American heritage, Gabriel was a third generation American: born in Los Angeles to parents also born in Los Angeles. He spoke just enough Spanish to get by in conversation with his grandmother and had never once step foot in his mother country. Though he felt more American than anything else, he often times ended up in situations where he had to _prove_ just how American he was. Because with his dark skin, foreign last name, and lower-middle-class background, America wasn’t always feeling _him._

 

So he took Jesse under his wing despite himself, and, by the end of that year, had come to let Jesse in a little more than he did others. Now he had both Ana _and_ Jesse.

 

“To be fair,” Olivia cuts in, stealing Gabriel’s class of water and gulping it all down, “I’m only here because I know at least one of you will be a gentleman and buy me a round of drinks before we head out.”

 

“You put too way too much faith in our generosity,” Gabriel replies, swiping the empty glass from her hands and flicking the few remaining drops of water in her face.

 

“Not in your _‘generosity’_ ,” Olivia retorts, whipping her bright hair over her shoulder such that it smacks Gabriel in the face. “I place my faith in my natural gifts of charm and manipulation.”

 

“Okay, well, you do that. But if you end up getting a drink from one of us, you’ll be stumbling before we even get out outta here, you lightweight.”

 

Olivia pinches him again in the same spot as before, disturbing an already tender spot and causing Gabriel to yelp this time.

 

“You’re a fuckin brat, you know that?” Gabriel says through gritted teeth, vigorously rubbing at the now even-more-tender patch of skin.

 

Olivia sticks her tongue out through her teeth to make an exaggerated annoyed face. “Yeah, and you’re a bully.”

 

“And _I_ am the one who is gonna buy us a round of drinks,” Jesse butts in, standing up and narrowing his eyes at the other two intently. “But if you guys keep going at it, I’ll just come back with one real strong Jack and Coke and two glasses of lukewarm water.”

 

As he dramatically exits the booth, Gabriel and Olivia watch his departure in silence until Olivia turns back around, a sly look in her eyes.

 

“If he doesn’t come back with a Mai Tai and a pint of Guinness, we’re ditching him, right?”

 

Gabriel grins.

 

“Oh yeah. For sure,” he replies, and the other grins back, glad that they have an understanding.

 

Gabriel’s relationship with Olivia is a little odd, and that just might be because Gabriel grew up as an only child, so he can’t actually say if this is what having a younger sister feels like. But it kind of almost is like that in a way.

 

Olivia popped up into the fray in his junior year. Though his experience as a mentor in LASA during the previous year hadn’t been so bad, he took precautions to make sure he wouldn’t have to dedicate his time to yet _another_ newbie while he was in his third year. While he’d taken preventative measures and unsubscribe from LASA’s email list before the year had begun, Jesse, unfortunately, had not thought to do the same. So he’d ended up assigned to a freshman named Olivia Colomar. Which meant Gabriel was assigned to her by proxy because Jesse needed help.

 

Olivia Colomar, though never one to stay in one place for very long, had joined LASA because she—though she’ll never admit this—was feeling homesick. She came from a family that had moved to the States when she was a young child and had lived here long enough to have just obtained Green Cards, and thus, official US Resident status. She spoke Spanish most of the time when at home, edited her parents’ emails to make sure they read in correct English, and went to school with homemade lunches, trying to hide the shame she felt when kids made fun of her for not eating “regular” food items like mac and cheese or Lunchables.

 

Unlike Jesse and Gabriel, who felt _stuck_ in the in-between, Olivia was looking to make a place for herself in the in-between—a balance between the two extremes of the cultures _inside_ and _outside_ her home. And that’s probably why she kept floating back to Jesse and Gabriel—they were natives of the space she wanted to occupy in society. And they always welcomed her back with open arms because she was a bridge, a connection, to a part of themselves they yearned to know more about.

 

Jesse, who is all too aware now how his companions function and probably divined their planned mutiny the moment he left to buy drinks, returns with a shoddy plastic tray balancing three different drinks.

 

“A Mai Tai for the lady,” he says, placing the colorful cocktail in front of Olivia with a flourish, “a nice Jack and Coke for the fine gentlemen that is me, and the black coffee equivalent of an alcoholic beverage for the old man here.”

 

As Jesse unloads Gabriel’s pint of dark beer and hands it to him, Gabriel scowls.

 

“Who’re you calling old man? You’re barely younger than I am.”

 

“Age is not of the body, but of the spirit, amigo,” Jesse replies, sighing wistfully and clutching his heart as he slumps back into his side of the booth. Gabriel merely snorts and takes a sip of his beer. Next to him, Olivia’s got her phone pulled out and scrolling through it as she stirs her drink with the straw.

 

“Did you get assigned your new mentee yet?” she asks Jesse, who immediately shakes his head.

 

“Oh no, I did the smart thing and got myself off that list like Gabe did. You were a handful and I need some peace in my life.”

 

Olivia snorts. “Definitely young in spirit,” she chides as she continues to scroll through her phone and slurp noisily at her Mai Tai.

 

“Wait,” Gabriel interjects, “so did _you_ get a mentee?”

 

Olivia nods, squinting at her phone.

 

“Kid named Lúcio? Coming in for Computer Science and is _really_ into music. I think he’s Brazilian.”

 

“Hmph, sounds like a good kid,” Gabriel says, leaning over to look at what he presumes is the email from LASA on her screen. “Too bad you’re gonna scare him off.”

 

“I’m not gonna scare anyone off, you asshole,” Olivia mutters, pushing Gabriel away. “He’s gonna come to me for Comp Sci advice and appreciate all of my hacking genius, unlike you two old oafs.”

 

“Okay, well, as your former mentor, I will leave you with some departing wisdom so you will be ready to take on this task,” Jesse steps in sagely, then pauses dramatically. “If you ever feel like you’re close to eating the guy whole, don’t come to us because neither Gabe nor I are gonna be liable for anything you do.”

 

Olivia throws back her head and groans, rolling her eyes, then deciding she’s just going to ignore Jesse and Gabriel as they share a triumphant look and chortle at her expense.

 

“So do you guys actually wanna go somewhere tonight, or do you plan on rotting here while you make fun of me?”

 

“Okay, okay, we’ll stop,” Gabriel says, still chuckling, and nudges her shoulder. “Give us the scoop. What’s looking hot tonight?”

 

Olivia finally sets her phone down on the table and taps her fingers against the surface in thought.

 

“Sounds like Delta Gamma’s got tubs of Jungle Juice but they’ll be trying to charge $5 at the door as a cover for it. ZBT and DTD both have multiple kegs, but ZBT’s gonna be checking a guest list, at least for the first two hours until everyone’s too out of it to care anymore. And I heard the football team’s hosting a season kickoff celebration at SigEp. I think they’re bringing in an actual DJ.”

 

Gabriel makes a face at the mention of that last frat party.

 

“Let’s not hit the football team one tonight,” he mutters, mind drifting to that last text Jack sent, the subtle challenge _still_ tugging at the corner of his brain. He just doesn’t like the feeling of being figured out so soon into meeting someone new. Like he’s been hacked or something.

 

Jesse catches his frown and raises his eyebrows in questioning.

 

“Something wrong with the football team?” he asks.

 

“Not really,” Gabriel replies, shrugging. “It’s just that I got paired up with Jack Morrison in one of my classes, and we’re supposed to be meeting this weekend of whatever, so I’d rather not run into him shitfaced before that.”

 

This bit of newly revealed information catches the attention of his compatriots, who both turn away from their drinks and peer keenly at him, waiting for the details to follow.

 

“Please. Continue. I think this’ll be a good one,” Jesse encourages, sharing an amused glance with Olivia.

 

Gabriel feels like he’s complained about this whole situation so many times by now—and each time only to Ana, God bless her soul—that the narrative slides off his tongue like melted butter on a hot knife. And by the time he’s finished recounting the awful mess that is last minute registration for Intro to Robotics, a partner project, a neighbor who’s just as tuned out as he is, and his being assigned to work with Jack Morrison, Jesse and Olivia are wearing twin expressions of pure enthrallment.

 

“Mr. McCree,” Olivia begins, her hand curled under her chin as if holding an imaginary microphone, “how are you reacting to watching the imminent demise of Gabriel Reyes?”

 

She tilts her wrist forward as Jesse, looking serious and thoughtful, leans in to speak into her imaginary mic.

 

“Ya know, while I am thoroughly shocked and on the edge of my seat, I gotta say, I think I feel worse for the other guy.”

 

“Who, _Morrison_?” Gabriel exclaims. “What? Why?”

 

Neither Olivia nor Jesse break their charade.

 

“I mean, it’d really just be one huge hell to have to work with Gabriel Reyes for a _whole_ semester,” Jesse continues, stroking his chin. “Imagine what it’ll do to those gentle features of his.”

 

Olivia nods solemnly, flicking her wrist back towards her and sighing in an exaggerated dreamy manner.

 

“I know what you mean. He’s got that handsome, sun-kissed, white farm boy look, right?”

 

“Exactly. Arms like he’s been wrestling chickens since the rooster crowed.”

 

“Rumor has it he eats a whole wheat breakfast every morning.”

 

“I think his hair looks like a whole wheat breakfast.”

 

“I heard he smells like sweet corn.”

 

“You two are the worst,” Gabriel interjects—though not without trying to hide his smirk—as the other two lose their composures and disintegrate into a fit of snickers and cackles. “I hope you guys are really happy with yourselves.”

 

“Aw come on, Gabe,” Jesse answers, grinning, cheeks flush from lack of breath. “Just tryin’ to lighten the mood. Besides, let’s be real here. You of all people would be damned if you let a guy like that be the end of you.”

 

Gabriel rolls his eyes, takes a long sip of his beer, then sighs.

 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” he grumbles, running a hand through his short hair and taking another sip.

 

“Do tell us if he actually does smell like sweet corn, though,” Olivia says, only just coming down from her laughter, gingerly wiping the bottoms of her eyes with her ring fingers so as not to disturb her makeup.

 

Two hours or so later, the trio finds themselves meandering across campus and heading from their first destination to their second, a stagger in their footsteps and a laugh in each of their throats. They’re riding the high of the cool of the night and the lowered state of their inhibitions, and Gabriel’s feeling like he’s in a pocket of the universe that he can cocoon himself in and never have to think about leaving.

 

Though he preaches the impracticality of putting in so much effort to build friendships with questionable futures, in these moments where he has the privilege of being stripped of extraneous worries, Gabriel has never felt luckier to have people he completely trusts like Jesse, Olivia, and (a currently absent) Ana in his life.

 

At some point during the course of the night, Gabriel pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time and sees an unread message from Jack.

 

**_Morrison:_ ** _11am tomorrow?_

Gabriel briefly retreats into a corner and shoots Jack a confirmation to meet in front of his favorite food truck, internally grimacing that he’ll have to be up that early tomorrow because, _of course,_ Jack’s an early riser. He then goes ahead and creates three alarms for himself, knowing he’ll soon be too incapacitated to remember he’s got to be somewhere the next morning.

 

As he pours himself another drink before rejoining the fray, Gabriel fleetingly hopes that the text he sent back didn’t have any typos.

 

* * *

When the first alarm rings, Gabriel snoozes it.

 

When the second alarm rings, Gabriel swipes his hand in the general direction of his phone and contentedly drifts back to sleep as the alarm goes quiet; a _thud_ indicates the phone has landed somewhere across the room.

 

When the third alarm rings, Gabriel growls and opens one eye like an ancient feral beast woken up too many years too soon. He swats at the bedside dresser in an attempt to snooze the disturbance again, and when he realizes the source is nowhere near him now, his grown morphs into a roar, and he stuffs his head under his pillow to try to drown out the noise.

 

Eventually the persistent siren-like sound overpowers his senses, flooding his eardrums and stimulating the hangover nesting between his eyes. He feels murderous and like dying at the same time, which is what ultimately motivates him to get out of bed and search for his phone so he can absolutely _obliterate_ it.

 

Stumbling around his room with squinted eyes to avoid the brightness of the sunlight streaming in, Gabriel finally locates his phone lying on the floor across the room. Picking it up, he sees that the alarm comes with a reminder on the screen:

 

_U bettr b outta bed bitch u got meet wt the yt boy_

Gabriel huffs, unsure whether to admire or curse his drunk ingenuity.

 

That’s quickly superseded by the realization that he needs to be somewhere very soon.

 

“Shit,” Gabriel mutters, tossing his phone onto his desk and dragging his hands down his face. He lets them linger there, relishing the few seconds of artificial darkness before accepting his fate.

 

Fifteen minutes later, after a whole water bottle, three aspirins, and a hunt for his gray beanie, Gabriel finally jogs out of his dorm building with his backpack slung over one shoulder and towards where he vaguely remembers texting Jack to meet him: in front of his favorite Korean-Mexican food truck.

 

He’s huffing and suppressing the urge to throw up when the food truck comes into view. Despite the brightness of the late morning, a hazy vibe settles over the campus, heavy with the slumber of students too exhausted from the night before. Campus is mostly empty, the only students populating it are the incredibly diligent ones up to secure their spot at the premier study spaces even though it’s only the first week of classes.

 

That’s why it’s relatively easy to spot Jack Morrison lounging on a bench just next to the truck: arms folded, face tilted towards the sky, eyes half closed, blond hair catching the sunlight. Jack looks so peaceful and so _unlike_ how Gabriel currently feels internally.

 

So Gabriel takes great delight in breaking the other’s state of serenity.

 

“Hey,” he grunts, nudging the other boy’s Nike clad foot with his own Adidas one. He remembers to breathe through his nose so that he can look somewhat composed and not like he’s suffering internally when Jack wakes up.

 

Jack opens his eyes, startled, and then an expression of relief washes over his features.

 

“Hey,” he says back, scrunching his face and blinking a few times before lifting a hand to shield his face from the sun. “I had no idea if I was in the right place, so I didn’t know if you were gonna show up or not.”

 

Gabriel lifts an eyebrow. “How? There’s only one food truck like this one on campus.”

 

“Well,” Jack starts, stretching out the vowel in a way that sounds like he’s questioning how best to relay this to Gabriel, “you weren’t exactly the most specific when you texted back. Thankfully this is the only food truck operating on campus on a Saturday.”

 

He lifts his hips off the bench so he can grab his phone out of his back pocket, then unlocks the screen and flips it so Gabriel can see. Gabriel rapidly blinks several times and squints, fighting the unpleasant sensation going through his head at the introduction of this extra light, and reads what is his and Jack’s brief text conversation.

 

**_Me:_ ** _11am tomorrow?_

**_Reyes:_ ** _ye @ fod truckk_

Gabriel winces at his own reply, thoroughly embarrassed of just how indicative it is of his state of being at the time.

 

“Yeah, I might’ve had a few drinks,” he admits, kicking at the sidewalk. He has absolutely no idea _why_ he feels disappointed in himself. Why does it matter so much what Jack’s first impressions of him are? Then again, why did it matter who got up and moved to whose table first?

 

This is a chronic problem that Gabriel seems to have: making himself appear bigger than he actually is to people he’s forced into a close proximity with. It keeps them at a distance, holding them at arm’s length to let them know that he’s a solitary fortress, and he’d like to stay that way.

 

Jack has the absolute _audacity_ to smirk.

 

“Guess that’s why you look like hell, huh?”

 

Gabriel’s so ready to throttle this guy, and he’s about to make good on this silent threat when he notices Jack is _still_ squinting from the brightness. There’s a tenseness around his cheeks like he’s grinding his teeth to hide a wince, and this only serves to accentuate the tiredness in his eyes and the faded dark rings underneath.

 

Ah yes. The football team held a party last night.

 

“You _asshole_ ,” Gabriel says, pointing a finger at the other accusingly. “You’re just as hungover as I am, so shut the fuck up.”

 

It’s Jack’s turn to scowl out of bewilderment, like he’d committed the perfect crime and cannot _believe_ that he’s been found out anyway.

 

“Goddammit,” Jack mutters, bending to his left to reach near his backpack and grab one of those fancy Blender Bottles people who live off of protein shakes usually have. It’s half full of some mysterious, thick, pale-yellow liquid that by no means looks appealing enough to drink. Jack frowns at it.

 

“This usually works,” he says dejectedly.

 

Gabriel scrunches his nose. “The hell is that?”

 

“Hangover cure,” Jack chirps, holding it up with pride. “Homemade recipe courtesy of John Morrison Sr. It works wonders. Here, you can take the rest. You look like you need it.”

 

He tosses the Blender Bottle over to Gabriel who clumsily catches it and eyes the liquid suspiciously.

 

“All the offense to Papa Morrison, this shit looks like vomit,” Gabriel replies, holding the bottle back out to Jack. “I’m not drinking that.”

 

“Gabriel—my bad, _Reyes_ —you look like you’re gonna hurl. Just try it, trust me,” Jack says indignantly. Then he tilts his head like he’s only now considering the idea that Gabriel very likely does _not_ want to trust him, so he takes the bottle back and gives it a nice shake before opening it up taking one big gulp without flinching. “See? It’s harmless.”

Gabriel narrows his eyes and his gaze flickers from Jack to the bottle, his suspicion not letting up. A hangover cure so powerful that it’s got a white boy looking almost as fresh as a daisy on the morning after? There’s most _definitely_ a catch.

 

But Jack isn’t wrong, either—Gabriel really does feel like he’s going to puke any minute. He hadn’t necessarily been smart in his drinking the night before—it’s hard to be smart when you’re being dared to shotgun a six pack of beer faster than the other guy—and running all the way here with a pounding headache and on an empty stomach only amplified the feeling of nausea. It’s a miracle he hasn’t thrown up all over Jack’s shoes yet.

 

Besides, he’s not about to get shown up by this guy. If Jack can chug that shit without dying, then so can Gabriel.

 

Determination rushing through his veins, temporarily dampening the nausea, Gabriel takes the Blender Bottle back from Jack, pops the lid open, and throws it back.

 

It takes all of his willpower not to gag on that viscous concoction and throw it up right there. He keeps his eyes trained on Jack and swallows that thing like a champ.

 

Jack looks incredibly pleased with himself in the most innocent of ways, as if he’s showing off his science fair project and is absolutely expecting to win the blue ribbon. Gabriel actually decides he doesn’t have the heart to tell him he can’t figure out what’s worse: the hangover or the cure.

 

About an hour later finds the two boys _still_ chilling on that same bench in front of the food truck that Gabriel found Jack on. They exist in absolute silence, neither one really bothering to break the peace because they’ve both silently agreed this is what they need before they can continue with the day—the show’s over. Nothing else left to prove.

 

Gabriel had managed to actually down the rest of Jack’s ungodly drink, each wince becoming less and less pronounced with every sip until he’d finally become used to the texture and taste. And he could feel the nausea and headache ebb away within fifteen minutes of drinking it, which is absolutely _miraculous._ Papa Morrison really did know a thing or two.

 

It’s approaching high noon and campus is finally starting to stir with activity. The sound of casual chatter and footsteps slower than they normally are on the weekdays meld their way into the day, prompting Gabriel to stir out of his late morning recovery daze. It’s not until a familiar and mouthwatering scent wafts over in their direction, motivating Gabriel to rise out of his lethargic slouch like a cartoon animal being drawn by the snout towards their favorite food.

 

It briefly occurs to Gabriel that they should have started working on their project by now, but lunch time is upon them, and Gabriel’s favorite food truck is kicking up its gears.

 

“Morrison,” he calls, sitting up with renewed vigor and swatting the other’s arm with the back of his hand. “Up, up.”

 

Jack groans low and slow like he’s swimming up to the surface from the depths of sleep—because he’d _actually_ sat there and fallen asleep, Gabriel notices—and shifts away.

 

“What if we sat here for like five more minutes,” he grumbles, bliss blooming across his half-lidded expression in a way that shows how desperate he is to keep living this moment. “It’s just so nice.”

 

“I can’t argue there. However—,” Gabriel starts, pushing himself to his feet and grasping his backpack to toss it over his shoulder. He’s got a grin on his lips and a gleam in his eye as he looks back and forth between Jack and the food truck. “It’s _lunch time._ ”

 

The other boy frowns, though he relents and begins to pick his weight up off the bench.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually eaten anything from here,” he murmurs, grabbing his own backpack and squinting to see if he can discern the menu from where they are.

 

“ _Excuse me_?” Gabriel exclaims, dangerously close to mortally offended. “This is widely regarded as _the_ best place to grab food on the entirety of campus, and you’re telling me you never thought to stop by once for a bite. In three whole years.”

 

“I’ve just never thought about it! I mostly make my own food,” Jack says defensively and squints again at the truck. “And, to be honest, I have no idea what I think about a Korean-Mexican fusion.”

 

Gabriel can’t help but roll his eyes as he turns to make his way to the line at the front of the truck. “Oh right. I forgot Iowa’s just a white cornfield.”

 

“Indiana. I’m from Indiana. And, I mean, Indianapolis isn’t bad. It’s got decent Mexican food,” Jack replies, following Gabriel into the line, scanning the menu as best as he can as he speaks.

 

“I’m gonna pretend like I didn’t just hear you tell me Indianapolis has good Mexican food,” Gabriel says with a snort. He glances over his shoulder to give the other boy a dangerous grin. “Let me order for you, white boy. I’m gonna blow your culinary world.”

 

Gabriel takes great pride and care as he chooses what he believes will leave Jack with at least three mouth orgasms, though he shoos Jack away while he’s ordering in order to keep his selection process as much of a surprise as he can. His day brightens infinitely when he asks for his favorite chili sauce and the server—one of several who have come to be familiar with Gabriel’s face over the years—grins as she splatters healthy sized dollops of it on both orders.

 

When all is said and done, Gabriel pays for the two meals—which Jack heavily protests against, but Gabriel’s so eager to introduce a whole new world to Jack that he just shushes him while handing over a $20—and the two of them eventually find themselves cross legged on a nearby patch of lawn, paper trays of fresh food in hand and stomachs rumbling.

 

Gabriel wastes no time in digging in, making noises of delight as the chili sauce that he had been robbed of earlier in the week finally hits his taste buds.

 

Jack, meanwhile, eyes his lunch apprehensively.

 

“The hell are you waiting for?” Gabriel asks with a full mouth, gesturing at Jack’s untouched food with his plastic food.

 

“It looks really good, it just...smells like it’s gonna be really spicy, that’s all,” Jack replies sheepishly, eyes flickering towards Gabriel and silently telling him that yes, he is ready to be mocked for his lack of spice tolerance.

 

Gabriel raises his eyebrow and snickers, barely managing to keep all of his jokes to himself. He and Jack are semester long partners now, so he’d be smart in being diplomatic and refraining from prodding the other with the metaphorical stick _too_ much. He doesn’t need Jack growing and holding a grudge while they navigate this little robotics hell hole.

 

“Oh, it’s gonna be spicy alright,” he affirms. “But if I had to drink that gross shit you call a cure, then you are going to eat that delicious motherfucker.”

 

Jack tilts his head and sighs, relenting with a shrug that’s a silent _“well, you’re not wrong.”_ He takes one more nervous glance at the food tray in his hand, then scoops a spoonful of rice, meat, beans, and eggs, and takes a bite.

 

His eyes start tearing up almost instantly.

 

An alarming shade of red blossoms in the other boy’s cheeks and gradually coats his neck and the rest of his face. Jack makes a valiant effort to chew and swallow without coughing, but the heat eventually overwhelms his mouth, and he’s soon gasping for water.

 

“Holy shit,” he rasps, balancing his lunch in one hand while grabbing a water bottle from his backpack with the other. “That was really good, but _holy shit._ ”

 

As Jack desperately tosses back his water bottle and gulps down more than half of its contents, Gabriel quickly attempts to swallow so he doesn’t choke on the laughter he’s been holding back.

 

“How have you even managed to truly _live_ all these years?” he teases, relishing the reversal of the situation; one hour later and now it’s Jack gagging on something of Gabriel’s suggestion.

 

Though that hangover cure was objectively pretty dreadful and Jack’s lunch most definitely _isn’t,_ so Gabriel’s even more justified in feeling smug. His stomach and taste buds have proven themselves to be the superior ones out of the two of them, and he pats himself on the back.

 

The male need to establish dominance is not one to be unlearned in one day, it seems.

 

“In my defense,” Jack starts, trying to calm his heaving breath after downing all that water, “there isn’t a single city in Indiana adventurous enough to sell anything but watered down, franchised ethnic food. Not even Indianapolis.”

 

“That’s true, but,” Gabe shoots back, “counterpoint: you’ve been in LA for school in three years, and you _still_ have underdeveloped taste buds. That’s on you.”

 

Jack hums for a second, contemplating a strategic way around this.

 

“Counterpoint taken,” he finally concedes.

 

He then holds up his lunch again, sticks his spoon back in, and sucks in a breath. His expression is steeled with a determination disproportionate to the task at hand. All he’s about to do is eat the rest of his quite spicy but delicious food, but his face smooths over like a stone—blue eyes focused, square jaw set, body language exuding an intense concentration all directed at his spoon—and he looks as if he’s about to throw a football in the heat of a 4th down.

 

Gabriel finds himself staring despite himself. It’s such mundane venture, and yet, Jack gives it nothing less than 100% of his attention and resolve. Somehow it elevates the whole situation—as if making it through the lunch Gabriel ordered for him is the most important thing at this very moment.

 

Gabriel briefly wonders how _exhausting_ that must be. To give all of yourself to every little thing in life.

 

The two of them settle into a quiet bubble of peace in the now hot Saturday afternoon, Gabriel enjoying the meal he’s coveted for so long and Jack sniffing across from him as he digs in with the same fervor. Gabriel’s perfectly fine with letting the silence continue. They’re partners, not friends, so he doesn’t necessarily feel prompted to make any more conversation. He’d rather keep to himself, hyper aware of the way he fits into his surroundings, the way the chili sauce is stinging his lips, the way grass around him sways gently towards him with the afternoon breeze.

 

Jack, on the other hand, turns out to be the kind of guy who likes to get to know other people.

 

“So I’m guessing you’re from around here?” he asks at one point, wiping a tear from the corner of his eyes. His face is a red and dribbling mess.  

 

“Yeah, LA born and raised,” Gabriel replies, trying to contain his own sniffles. Unfortunately having a spice tolerance does not mean your face can keep it together—you just experience delayed and milder side effects.

 

“That must’ve been nice, growing up in LA,” Jack hums almost wistfully. “Summer forever. No shoveling snow.”

 

Gabriel chuckles.

 

“Well, when you put it like that, it’s pretty good, yeah,” he muses. “But other than that, it’s alright. Sometimes it feels a little claustrophobic.”

 

“LA? Claustrophobic?” Jack asks, sounding incredulous.

 

“Hey man, when three generations of your family have all lived in one city that has only one season and traffic for days, it’s gonna start feeling a little cramped,” Gabriel answers.

 

“Hmm, I can’t say I’m ever gonna understand that, but sure, I’ll take it,” Jack says, looking thoughtful. “So would you ever consider moving out of LA?”

 

Gabriel sets his almost-empty tray across his lap, and his plastic spoon down with it. He chews whatever is left in his mouth slowly to give himself more time to answer. To be honest, it’s a question he’s often posed to himself, but always tossed away before bothering to answer. Moving away from Los Angeles? As small as his world may be, it’s still his world.

 

(Though, clearly, LA being a small world is a preposterous idea to Jack.)

 

“I mean, I guess I’ll have to move once I enlist,” he starts after a few moments, “but I’ve never considered going outside California.”

 

Jack shrugs, accepting his answer. “Well, that’s not a bad choice. After all, nothing actually exists outside of California, does it?”

 

Gabriel grins. “You got that right, Iowa boy.”

 

“Indiana.”

 

“Same thing.”

 

It only occurs to Gabriel when they’re finally finished with lunch and cleaning up that common courtesy would call for his asking Jack about growing up in Indiana and his decision to move to California in return. Though he could still bring it up, Gabriel opts not to. He figures that if he doesn’t push it, then maybe Jack will take the hint and drop the whole team bonding thing—it’s simply another exercise that requires an additional effort and a certain finesse, and Gabriel’s determined to slide through this class as painlessly as possible. They’re already working on a difficult enough project as it is.

 

Once they’ve finally cleared their trash and Jack’s drank the remainder of his water before assuring Gabriel that that lunch was definitely an eye opener in the best way possible, the two of them find themselves lounging on the lawn. Gabriel stretches his legs out in front of him, leaning back and balancing his body on the palms of his hands behind him, poised to soak in the high California sun. Jack sits adjacent to him, legs crossed, and pulls a pen out of his backpack.

 

“Okay so, we should probably start figuring out ideas,” he says, words slightly muffled as he sticks his pen between his teeth to dig through his backpack for a notebook.

 

Thankfully, Gabriel had managed to skim the project portion of the syllabus just after class on Friday before working out with Ana, then meeting Jesse and Olivia, so he’s now caught up with a vague idea of what they need to get done.

 

“Aren’t we like, supposed to make a robot to help society or something?” he asks.

 

Jack nods and pulls out a stapled packed, which Gabriel figures is the syllabus, from one of his notebook’s built in folder pockets. He flips to the page describing the project guidelines, squints in the sunlight, and reads,

 

“Yeah, it says we have to ‘design and build a simple robot with the intent of alleviating or aiding with _one_ universally common issue.’”

 

“Okay, cool, yeah, that doesn’t sound too bad,” Gabriel remarks.

 

Jack hums and prods his chin with his pen thoughtfully.

 

“I dunno, I mean, what’s a universally common issue off the top of your head?”

 

Gabriel leans back further on his palms, squinting into the sun as he racks his brain for ideas.

 

“Leg day,” he poses finally. “Leg day is a huge pain in my ass, and I’d do anything to fix that.”

 

Jack looks thoroughly unamused.

 

“Seriously?” he asks. “Leg day? That’s your universal issue?”

 

“Uh, yes,” Gabriel answers with serious resolve. “You’re an athlete. Don’t tell me you don’t get where I’m coming from.”

 

Jack merely grunts and begrudgingly writes the idea down in his notebook. As he does so, Gabriel tries not to let the judgement written all over the other boy’s face annoy him—but it does so anyway.

 

“Okay hot stuff, think you got a better idea,” he taunts, trying not to let the slight aggravation leak into his tone.

 

Jack continues to stare at his notebook and sits still, pausing in his writing. He sits hunched over his lap for a few minutes before finally looking up, uncertainty seeping into his blue eyes.

 

“Um...” he begins. “End global warming?”

 

Gabriel simply deadpans, gaze boring into Jack.

 

“Seriously. That’s your better idea. End global warming.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, sitting up.

 

To be quite honest, Gabriel isn’t really sure what exactly he expected from this guy. I mean, sure, he’s apparently a hard worker and a good student on top of being a great athlete, but his proposal implies that _naivety_ is also a part of that mix. He kind of sounds like every white person Gabriel’s had to arduously build up a patience to tolerate over the years—the ones who call themselves liberal and pat themselves on the back for simply making grand, general statements like _“racism is bad!”_ or _“gay rights!”_ and then call it a day. Gabriel has to wonder if Jack really is that kind of person. Considering he’s a white guy from a cornfield? It’s more likely than not, and unsurprising if so.

 

Gabriel voices none of this out loud, but he snorts loud enough to make Jack frown.

 

It turns out that Jack, like him, also doesn’t appreciate the judgement.

 

“You’re judging me? he exclaims. “You just picked something that _you_ don’t like. That’s not societal, that’s selfish.”

 

“Oh, as opposed to your grand idea Mr. Self-Righteous?” Gabriel shoots back, pushing himself up off his hands and coming to sit up straight, squaring his shoulders.

 

“What about wanting to end global warming is self-righteous?” Jack asks incredulously.

 

“And how exactly do you plan on ending global warming, Morrison?” Gabriel challenges, folding his arms. “I bet you don’t even recycle at home.”

 

Jack opens his mouth and closes it again, brow furrowing in the frustration of being trapped. partially confirming Gabriel’s theory.

 

“It’s still an important issue that needs to be fixed,” he argues, sitting up to mirror Gabriel’s posture. “Just because I’m not actively trying to end global warming doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be addressed.”

 

“Nah, see, that there is exactly why it’s self-righteous bullshit,” Gabriel counters. “People go and spew out all kinds of big blanket statements to sound all progressive and shit so they can congratulate themselves for being a good and caring person. But they don’t bother actually _doing_ anything about the stuff they’re talking about. Or even understanding the _actual_ problems. It’s just worthless crap and annoying as hell.”

 

“So you’d rather say nothing at all, then?” Jack counters. “Just ignore it?”

 

“I’d rather do whatever I can to make my life easier to get through,” Gabriel states with finality. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and even if that gross hangover cure rid him of his gross morning-after sensations, he’s still in no mood to argue something like this any further.

 

Jack, on the other hand, looks too reluctant to let this go, but it’s by God’s grace and Gabriel’s don’t-you-fucking-dare glare that he finally decides to drop it.  

 

The exchange exchange leaves the two of them stewing in an awkward silence, Gabriel picking at the grass near his thighs and Jack idly doodling in the margins of his notebook. Gabriel can’t help but think that his decision not to go any deeper into bonding with his partner is much more validated now. He and Jack are clearly pretty different and stubborn people. Though, hindsight being 20/20, that had been pretty obvious since the moment they silently fought over who was going to get out of their seat first.

 

It’s when Gabriel’s phone, which is lying in the grass next to his feet, lights up with a notification of an incoming email that he sees the time. Fuck, it’s past 2pm. He might be a senior, but he’s still got other homework he needs to get done.

 

“You know what,” he starts, hoping he sounds more diplomatic than annoyed, “we really need to get something done here, so let’s just keep tossing shit out.”

 

Jack happily boards that train, nodding and sitting back up and alert.

 

“I guess we should just start simple,” he says, tapping his chin with his pen again. “What’s a problem you and I both have? Besides leg day.”

 

“We’re both stuck in this stupid class,” Gabriel mutters.

 

That grabs Jack’s attention, and his face brightens.

 

“Right! Yeah, okay,” he exclaims. “Except that’s not really something we can fix. But why did we end up here?”

 

“Bad planning,” Gabriel answers, leaning forward brow furrowed in thought. “I didn’t realize I was missing a Gen Ed requirement until it was too late.”

 

“Same,” Jack agrees. “Except I’m not sure how we can design a robot to help with oversight.”

 

“Maybe not,” Gabriel hums, running the tip of his thumb through the trimmed hair on his chin. “But what if could prevent oversight? What if it were something that could remind you that you were forgetting something? It’s not a ‘societal issue,’ but everyone forgets shit all the time.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Jack muses, enthusiastically scribbling all of this down. “Ooh! Maybe it can light up green if you’ve done everything you need to do, and red if you’re missing something.”

 

Gabriel snaps his fingers.

 

“That’s fuckin genius,” he says grinning. “And maybe it can, like, do a little dance too. You know, you just sit it on your desk, and it just turns red and does a little robot jiggle to get your attention.”

Jack raises an eyebrow.

 

“You’ve got quite the imagination, Reyes.”

 

“What can I say,” Gabriel sighs dramatically, “I’m the tormented creative genius of our generation.”

 

Jack simply beams in return and goes back to outlining all of their pitches.

 

“Okay, so I’ve got that all down,” he says, before poking his pen with his chin again. Gabriel notices that he does that _a lot._ “But I’m guessing this is gonna need some programming to work. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t know _shit_ about computer science.”

 

The point Jack makes is a really valid one, and Gabriel deflates a bit at the thought.

 

“Ah, fuck,” he grunts. “No luck here. I’m doing Architecture.”

 

“Oh really?” Jack asks. “For some reason, I would’ve never taken you as an Architecture guy.”

 

“The biceps throw you off?” Gabriel jokes, to which Jack rolls his eyes. “But, yeah, architecture’s pretty cool. I’ve got an eye for details, and I like deconstructing things to the smallest parts, so it fits me pretty well.”

 

“Hey, if anything then, you can design our robot,” Jack comments.

 

“Damn straight. If we don’t have a robot by the end of this, at least we’ll have a damn good drawing to show Torbjorn,” Gabriel replies, grinning widely now that his ego has been stroked. “What about you? Got any useful skills to contribute?”

 

“Well, I’m a Statistics major,” Jack answers, rubbing the back of his neck. “So I can...run data analyses? To prove the robot works with numbers?”

 

“So we basically have everything we need _except_ for the actual building and programming part,” Gabriel points out.

 

Jack, too, deflates now.

 

“Yeah, that’s what it looks like. Though, we’re technically supposed to be applying what we’re learning in class.”

 

Gabriel merely grimaces at the thought and returns to picking grass.

 

The two of them melt into silence again, though this time, it’s not nearly as awkward, and Gabriel is incredibly thankful for that. He hopes he doesn’t have to keep dodging bullets like that as the semester goes on, but as long as they both stay in their lanes, he can make it through.

 

“Well,” Jack says, moving to stuff his notebook back into his backpack. “I should probably get going, but at least we have an idea?”

 

Gabriel hums in agreement and begins to gather his own belongings. The two of them hoist themselves up on their feet and sling their backpacks over their shoulders.

 

“If anything, I can ask around and see if I can find someone who can help us out with this,” Jack continues. “I’ve gotta know someone who knows an engineer or something.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do too,” Gabriel adds, though he’s already got an idea of exactly who he’s going to approach for help. “I’ll let you know if I got anything in class on Monday.”

 

“Sounds good,” Jack affirms and holds out his hand between the two of them. “So I’ll see ya around, Reyes?”

 

“Don’t really have much of a choice, do you?” Gabriel responds, eyeing Jack’s hand wearily before clasping it in his own.

 

“Guess not,” the other boy says, smirking. “But you’re in the same boat.”

 

 _And I’d better not fucking sink,_ Gabriel thinks.

* * *

“So you guys are basically making a Remembrall.”

 

“A what.”

 

“A Remembrall. You know, that ball that turns red from Harry Potter.”

 

“Oh. Well, don’t put it like _that._ For one thing, ours isn’t magic.”

 

Ana rolls her eyes and looks back at her laptop screen, adjusting her thick framed glasses on her knows while doing so.

 

Gabriel’s sitting at the foot of her twin sized bed, textbook out in front of him. The two of them are trying to make the most of the remainder of their Sunday evening, churning out as much completed work as they possibly can before classes the next day.

 

“Ana, come on,” he urges, prodding at her foot with his highlighter. “Neither of us know shit about building anything, and you’re an engineer. Help a guy out.”

 

“I’m in _civil_ engineering, Gabe,” Ana responds, not bothering to glance up from her work. “It’s not nearly the same thing. You need like mechanical engineering or something.”

 

“Then hook me up with a mechanical engineer,” Gabriel implores. “You’ve gotta know a few in the engineering school.”

 

Ana sighs heavily and finally puts her laptop aside, glowering at Gabriel, clearly annoyed that he’s hindering her study process. Gabriel dons the best expression of pure innocence and vulnerability he’s got, though he admittedly isn’t that great at procuring such a look.

 

“I guess I know this one girl who might be able to help you,” she finally relents. “She’s a freshman, but she’s an absolute _genius._ I’m pretty sure Fareeha’s got a crush on her.”

 

Ana pulls out her phone and starts scrolling through her text messages.

 

“Three days into her freshman year and your sister’s already got a crush?” Gabriel exclaims.

 

Ana nods. “Looks like it. That’s how amazing this girl is. I think her name is Satya or something like that? I can text Fareeha and let her know you’re looking for help.”

 

Gabriel perks up, relief washing over him.

 

“Ana, you are a godsend. Literally an angel sent to Earth. Even heaven’s too good for you,” he says, bending over his lap as far as he can in a bow. “I owe you one.”

 

“I’m pretty sure you owe me a lot more than one by now,” Ana chuckles, quickly tapping a text off to Fareeha before tossing her phone aside. “Honestly Gabe, this wouldn’t be as big of a problem if you just got to know more people. It’s called networking and making friends.”

 

She nudges Gabriel’s knee with a foot, and he frowns.

 

“I made it this far, didn’t I?” he retorts.

 

Ana only hums in a mixture of thoughtfulness and disappointment, then picks her laptop back up again and resumes what she’d been doing before.

 

Gabriel stares at the textbook in front of him, though his thoughts are far from design theory now.

 

Ana’s not wrong—getting to know more people would have definitely eliminated his need to constantly resort to going to the same three people over and over again if he ever needs anything. However, Gabriel just isn’t that kind of person. It’s easy to make a connection with people you have a lot in common with, and that’s probably how he’s ended up with Ana, Jesse, and Olivia.

 

But when all you’re trying to do is keep your head down and do the best you can to simply get through life without incident or consequence, going out of your way to build bridges with people at a greater distance from you is draining as _hell_. The chance of somebody truly understanding you and where you come from is so slim, and the chance of somebody putting in the effort to actually _try_ to understand all of that if they don’t already is even more slim. So to invest all that time and energy into such a rollercoaster when all you want to do is get through the day? It just doesn’t feel worth it sometimes.

 

Lord knows it’s been a while since Gabriel’s felt it like it is.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think 11am isn't early after a night out, man you're a superhero. Also, Korean-Mexican fusion is AMAZING. Lastly, I’m from Kentucky and shitting on Indiana is a hobby of mine. 
> 
> I hope I can get Ch. 3 up as timely as I managed to with Ch. 2!
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://sunmp3.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/satyasvaswani).


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gabe and Genji are confused by kind people. And there are pining engineering lesbians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, thanks so much for all the positive feedback so far! I'm sorry this update took forever to post, but with school kicking into full gear and looking for a full time job, things have been a bit busy. I also had some pretty serious laptop troubles, but that's all sorted out, so I am finally here! With the next chapter! 
> 
> Content-wise, this chapter isn't as substantial as the first two, but it helps get the ball rolling for Phase Two. 
> 
> Again, this isn't beta-read, so I apologize for any errors. 
> 
> Thanks for waiting, and enjoy!

The next Wednesday, Torbjorn mercifully takes a break from his unfollowable lectures and declares that they’ll have the class period to work on their first hands-on lab of the semester. He breaks the students up into pairs of two based on their seating arrangements and passes out the lab instructions before turning on some light piano jazz and leaving them all be.

 

Because the codes of classroom seating arrangements had been implicitly agreed upon on the first day of classes, the assignment of partners for the semester-long project had no effect on where the students sat. So when Gabriel receives his lab instructions, he looks over at Genji—who gives him a half-smile and a shrug—and predicts that the pair of them are likely not to get much done by the end of class.

 

To his surprise, however, they actually make it pretty far into the lab. The instructions read like a forest that needs some serious weeding with its single spaced and rambling paragraphs; but Gabriel’s got a sharp eye and a knack for reading between the lines, and Genji has steady hands and a finesse for handling delicate things, so the two of them actually manage to make it through three-fourths of the lab with only a few minor obstacles here and there. It’s actually the first time Gabriel’s felt like he’s learned something in this class, and is surprised at how much some of the mechanics of building simple mechanisms make sense. No different from cars or architecture.

 

Alas, their productivity doesn’t last the entire period. Genji’s got a horribly short attention span, and the soft jazz is easing Gabriel to sleep; so after about 45 minutes, the hardworking duo disintegrates into Gabriel spaced out with his chin on the desk and Genji aimlessly toying with the small motors given to them as part of the lab.

 

“Dude,” Genji starts, finally taking a break from his fiddling with whatever part he’s playing around with, “this lab is totally wack, yo.”

 

Gabriel lifts an eyebrow and shifts his head _just_ barely so he can shoot his neighbor a judgmental look through half lidded eyes.

 

“You don’t moonlight as a vaping skater guy or something, do you?”

 

 Genji eyes Gabriel like he’s got three heads and motions at himself.

 

“Gross. Why would you think that? Have you seen me?”

 

“ _Wack_?”

 

“An easy to understand and hip criticism.”

 

Gabriel’s gaze stretches up just a little further to give the green snapback resting backwards on Genji’s head a pointed look.

 

“Mmhm.”

 

For two seconds, Genji seems ready to retaliate. But he instead slumps into his shoulders, mirroring Gabriel’s own deflated position, and sighs heavily. Gabriel doesn’t blame him. Mondays can do that to a guy.

 

“Have you started on your project yet?” Genji asks conversationally, once again venturing to break the hazy silence. All around them the low whispers of the other students fill the air, hushed tones arguing over the interpretation of instructions and the fitting of parts. Torbjorn has mercifully lingered towards the front of the room, having stopped at a pair’s station to ramble about the mechanics of a certain part in order to answer a very simple question.  

 

“Yeah, sort of,” Gabriel hums lazily without moving an inch, continuing to stare at nowhere in particular. “We met back on Saturday and managed to figure something out.”

 

As he speaks, Gabriel’s eyes instinctively wander to rest on the back of Jack’s blond head. It’s at precisely this moment that the other boy decides to turn around to check the clock mounted on the back wall of the classroom, and, as he does so, his gaze inevitably falls from the wall to meet Gabriel’s. In the awkward moment that invariably follows once having made accidental eye contact with someone else, Jack tilts his head and offers a quick but warm smile. Gabriel, feeling caught like a deer in headlights, scrambles between looking away immediately and acknowledging that he’s seen the other, so he ends doing a weird maneuver with his face where his nose scrunches and his lips purse and his eyes dart promptly to the wall behind Jack.

 

Genji apparently catches the whole exchange as evidenced by the hushed snicker to Gabriel’s left.

 

“You know, whenever I turn on ESPN on a Saturday, he’s the only thing the commentators ever talk about,” Genji muses. “Tell me, is he as god-like as they try to say he is?”

 

Gabriel rolls his eyes and snorts, a smirk tugging at his lips.

 

“Please, he almost died choking on chili sauce. He’s as immortal as a fruit fly.”

 

Genji shakes his head and _tsks_ in disappointment. “Well, what they say must be true, then. Fame isn’t everything.”

 

Gabriel hums and sneaks another peek at Jack’s back. It’s true—the name _Jack Morrison_ had quickly become a known one amongst households that followed college football, with much of the country speculating in awe as to why he hadn’t been drafted into NFL yet. Some say it’s because he wants to wait until he graduates, and others wonder if maybe he hasn’t decided on going pro yet. Whatever the case may be, he delighted sports fans all across on Saturday afternoons.

But what’s also true is none of _that_ Jack Morrison had come out so far, at least not yet. In fact, Gabriel had almost forgotten that he’s their school’s star quarterback, having now replaced that image with a relatively humble, much too idealistic and naïve (rather self-righteous as well) guy with watery eyes and snot dribbling down his face. And, though they’d actually only hung out that one Saturday afternoon, Jack had decided they were chummy enough to say hi to him when they crossed paths on campus and use an excessive amount of emojis when Gabriel texted him about Ana’s mechanical engineer referral, Satya Vaswani.

 

Gabriel’s got absolutely no idea what to think of him yet, and he hates that. What good are first impressions if they don’t tell you right off the bat if a person is worth tolerating or not?

 

“So have you guys met yet?” he asks, if only to deflect the conversation away from himself.

 

“Uh, sorta?” comes Genji’s reply.

 

Gabriel lifts his head just an inch or so off the surface of the table and raises a skeptical eyebrow.

 

“Sorta? You either did or didn’t meet,” he says.

 

“Well, I mean…” Genji trails off, shooting a furtive glance over at the back of one Tekharta Zenyatta.

 

The other boy is sitting at the high table diagonally in front of them, hunched over and focused as he chips away at their lab with his lab partner, the pretty girl with the blonde ponytail. His body is leisurely and composed, oddly elegant despite his lanky frame. The blonde girl—Angela or something? —is speaking, likely elaborating on her interpretation of the lab instructions, and the boy nods along, thoroughly engaged in the conversation. Genji squints and chews the inside of his cheek before he swivels around on his stool, back facing the other pair and leaning against his and Gabriel’s own table, elbows perched on the surface. The look on his face resembles the tension of a rubber band ready to be unwound and flung across the room, indicating that what will come next out of Genji’s mouth will surely be a tale.

 

“So,” he begins, and Gabriel gives him his full attention, lab completely forgotten. “Last week we agreed to meet on Sunday morning. The thing is, though, I’m pretty sure I haven’t slept before 5am on a Saturday ever since the moment I discovered arcades, then alcohol, then arcades _and_ alcohol. And I completely forgot that Sunday comes after Saturday.”

 

At this, Gabriel snorts, almost loud enough to attract the attention of the few pairs around them. Genji immediately glares at him and kicks him in the ankle to demand his silence.

 

“It was an honest mistake, okay,” he says defensively. “But the point is, I was passed out on Sunday morning, and I barely woke up when Zenyatta called me and asked if we were still down to meet. There was no way in hell I was gonna get out of bed any time soon—I was already half asleep on the phone—so I told him I was too sick to meet.”

 

“So you stood him up because you were sleep deprived and hungover? That’s cold, Shimada,” Gabriel interjects, words full of mirth. He’ll happily pull this boy’s leg over this so he can bask in the fact that, despite his own late night out, he’d still managed a productive Saturday rendezvous.

 

Rather than retaliating to justify his actions, Genji merely hangs his head and rhythmically prods at one of the stool’s legs with the tip of his shoe.

 

“Yeah,” he admits, “and what happened next makes it even worse. A little bit after I fell back asleep, I woke up again because someone was knocking at my door. I thought it might be Hanzo because he’s got this weird thing where he hates that I’m sleeping in when he’s awake, so I told him to go away. I think I threw a pillow at the door too. But then there was more knocking, and I thought maybe Hanzo didn’t hear me, so I finally got out of bed to tell him to fuck off.”

 

At this junction in the story, Gabriel holds up a hand, a huge smirk threatening to break out across his lips. He’s got an idea as to where this is going.

 

“Wait, wait, let me guess. You opened the door and it was Zenyatta instead.”

 

“With coffee and bagels!” Genji exclaims, and, as if remembering where he is, his eyes widen and he shoots yet another glance at his partner, then at Torbjorn to make sure neither had heard him. Then he leans in closer to Gabriel and hisses, “Like, what the fuck?”

 

“Hold up, he knew where you live?” Gabriel asks.

 

“Well, yeah, I mean, he had my address because we were gonna meet at my place anyway since I’ve got a studio off campus,” Genji responds, “but that’s not the point! He _totally_ knew I blew him off because I was trashed, and he still showed! With _breakfast_! And he was all _‘hey, you said you were sick, so we don’t have to do any work today, I just thought I’d bring by some breakfast!’_ Who does that?”

 

This little bit of information tugs at Gabriel’s attention.

 

“It wasn’t a bribe?” he inquires, eyebrow raised in suspicion. “No ulterior motive?”

 

“None at all. I invited him in to hang out and see if he was being passive aggressive or wanted me to do lab report for him to make it up, but nope. Apparently he’s just a quirky Philosophy major who genuinely likes bringing people breakfast when they blow him off,” Genji says incredulously. “That’s sketch, right?”

 

Gabriel is sitting up on his stool now, though making sure to keep his posture casual with one elbow still leaning on the table so that he doesn’t look _too_ alert and draw attention. He squints in the direction of this Tekharta Zenyatta and Genji joins him, as if the two of them are attempting to scrutinize the other under the lens of a microscope.

 

“Yeah,” Gabriel finally acknowledges, nodding slightly and rubbing the scruff on his chin, “that’s definitely sketch. Plus, he’s a _Philosophy_ major. They’re the worst.”

 

Their scrutiny is interrupted by Professor Torbjorn’s bellowing call for the end of class.

“Make sure to clean up your stations and account for all the pieces! Your lab reports are due next Wednesday and you may submit on per team,” he reminds them as the bustling of students packing up their belongings intensifies.

 

Gabriel slides off his stool and hoists his backpack onto it, gathering his things and zipping it up before moving to clean up the remnants of their lab. Genji mirrors him, dismantling the simple machine they’d attempted to construct.

 

“So what do you think I should do?” he asks under his breath so none of the students leaving the room hear him.

 

“I’d say just be cautious,” Gabriel replies, head bent in a secretive manner. “Don’t let him catch you off guard again.”

 

“Hey,” a voice in front of their table interjects causing Gabriel to step snap his head up, startled and only barely missing Genji’s chin.

 

He comes face to face with Jack Morrison standing on the other side of their lab table, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyebrows raised.

 

“Am I interrupting something?” he questions, eyes flitting between Gabriel and Genji, both of whom look as if caught committing a crime red handed.

 

Gabriel shrugs in an effort to seem casual and not like he himself was just caught off his guard.

 

“Shimada blew his partner off because he was hungover, and the guy ended up buying him breakfast anyway, and we’re trying to figure out why.”

 

The expression on Jack’s face indicates that of all the answers he had been expecting, this definitely is not one of them. He turns his head in Zenyatta’s direction—much to Genji’s chagrin, which Genji makes evident when he hisses ‘ _don’t look_ ’ in disbelief—and swivels around to face the pair again.

 

“Maybe because he’s just a nice person?” Jack proposes.

 

Gabriel snorts at the proposition at the same time as Genji scoffs.

 

“Kindness without an ulterior motive? In _this_ economy? Be realistic, you boy scout,” Gabriel counters, folding his arms.

 

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d ever buy a stranger who stood me up breakfast out of the kindness of my heart,” Genji adds, and Gabriel gesture’s at him as if to say, see? _He_ gets it.

 

Jack opens his mouth, brow furrowed into a look that Gabriel is now coming to recognize as his ‘ _I want to argue this’_ look, and Gabriel readies himself to come back with a counter attack. The situation doesn’t escalate, however, due to the timely entrance of the subject of their current conversation.

 

“Excuse me,” Zenyatta says, pushing his round-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose out of habit. “I don’t mean to be rude, but, Genji, I was hoping to get a moment of your time. I’ve thought of some ideas for our project that I wanted to run by you.”

 

Though his smile is a simple and friendly one, it feels as though he’s radiating a peaceful sort of goodwill—the kind that tames your heart in an instant, and you just _know_ that you’ll never be able to harbor ill feelings against this person no matter how much you may want to.

 

Genji’s eyes flicker to Gabriel, a touch of panic reflected in them, before he shoulders his own bag.

 

“Uh, right now? I was actually gonna go grab some dinner at the dining hall,” he replies, shuffling his way towards the classroom’s exit.

 

“Perfect!” Zenyatta exclaims, though whether he’s oblivious to Genji’s attempt to dodge him or just unfazed by it is unclear because his smile never falters. “I’m heading that way, so I’ll walk with you.”

 

Genji clearly hadn’t expected that response and flounders for another excuse before letting it go and smiling weakly back at Zenyatta.

 

“Yeah, okay, sure,” he says in defeat. He briefly turns to Gabriel and gives him a half-hearted wave. “See ya.”

 

“Later, Shimada. Better not bail on me with this lab report,” he says, unable to resist adding the latter part. He grins from ear to ear when Genji shoots him a glare as he walks out shoulder to shoulder with his project partner. If he hadn’t known better, he’d say Zenyatta was hiding a small laugh at that quip.

 

Jack watches on incredulously, as if he cannot believe a situation so simple had been twisted into such an exchange of will and emotions. Gabriel turns back to him and stands defiant, as if daring him to challenge the previous proceedings.

 

However, the students for the class right after theirs begin to trickle in, signaling that the two of them don’t have much longer to linger around, so all Jack says on the matter is, “Well he seems harmless enough.”

 

“Those are the ones you especially have to watch out for,” Gabriel replies. “Anyway, what’s up? I’m assuming you didn’t come back here just to stare at my pretty mug.”

 

Jack snorts and runs a hand through his close-cropped blond hair.

 

“I just wanted to make sure we were still on for meeting your engineer friend tomorrow,” he says. “3:30, right?”

 

“Yep,” Gabriel confirms, finally hoisting his own backpack onto his shoulders. “In the engineering library. I’m gonna draw up a couple of rough design sketches tonight to go over.”

 

“Sounds great. Do you, uh, need me to do anything?”

 

Gabriel shrugs. “Not really. You still have our notes from Saturday, right?”

 

“Yeah, right here,” Jack nods and points at his backpack to silently refer to his notebook within. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

 

Gabriel nods in farewell and heads out of the classroom, taking a right as he exits to start making his way towards one of the university’s dining halls. Maybe it’s because it’s hump day, but he’s feeling particularly hungry this evening. As he pulls out his phone to see if either Ana or Jesse want to meet him for dinner, he notices that Jack is heading in the exact same direction as him. Considering they’d just bid each other their goodbyes, this is quite awkward.

 

Quickly, Gabriel attempts to focus all of his attention on his phone, becoming engrossed in it like it’s the only thing that exists in the world in the hopes that Jack won’t notice that he noticed that they were heading the same way.

 

This tactic fails.

 

“Oh, are you going to get dinner too?” Jack asks, an uncertain expression resting on his face that could be interpreted as either his also acknowledging the situational oddness or as his contemplating the idea of asking Gabriel to join him for dinner.

 

For some unknown reason—perhaps it’s the lack of unequivocal stance on how Gabriel feels about Jack as a person—the latter idea prompts Gabriel to panic slightly, much in the same way Genji had only a few moments ago. His mouth answers before his brain actually stops to think—an mistake that very rarely plagues him.

 

“Nah,” he answers. “I’m not really hungry. I actually just took a wrong turn.”

 

“Oh, okay then,” Jack says, uncertainty still faintly tracing his features. “Well then, see ya. Again.”

 

“Yeah, see ya,” Gabriel replies, mentally kicking himself as he watches Jack walk down the hallway in the direction of the dining halls and trying to ignore the way his stomach rumbles in protest.

 

He has no idea which dining hall Jack will strike, but if he’s anything like the average university student, he’ll be in there for about half an hour, give or take. And then there’s the chance that he might not even _go_ to the dining hall considering that he likely lives in the building popular with student athletes with rooms equipped with kitchenettes. If that’s the case, then he might have simply asked Gabriel if he were heading to dinner out of courtesy—but there’s no absolute way of knowing.

 

So, taking all circumstances into account, in order for Gabriel to cleanly avoid the other boy and prevent any further awkwardness, he’ll have to wait it out for at least an hour just to be safe.

 

He avoids interrogating himself as to why he feels the need to make this whole thing harder than it needs to be.

 

Gabriel tosses his head back, eyes squinting shut as the bright ceiling lightbulbs blind him, and groans.

 

 _“Fuck._ ”

 

* * *

 

He’s the first one to arrive at the engineering school. The main engineering building rests in its own little universe, situated in a pocket on a corner of campus and surrounded by mini satellite buildings that consist of labs, research facilities, and random study spaces. It’s an area that one could feel jealous of if the amount of work engineering students were burdened with didn’t warrant some extra exclusive niceties.

 

Gabriel lounges on the steps of the building, back against the metal railing that threaten to torch his shirt soon as it gleams in the relentless September sun. He’s been camped out there for fifteen minutes now, having been five minutes earlier than their designated meeting time and now ten minutes past it—Jack Morrison is late.

 

The screen of his phone is lit up and unlocked, displaying the latest text message he’d received from Jack: “ _I’m on my way!!”_ It’d been sent four minutes ago, but there’s still no hulking blond man hustling his ass to get to the engineering school in sight. If he doesn’t show up for another five minutes, Gabriel vows to give him a boat load of shit for it. After all, they’re taking up other people’s time as well.

 

Jack narrowly avoids said boatload as he turns the corner and jogs his way up to the building steps, backpack swinging over one shoulder, face set like he’s mentally talking himself through a marathon.

 

“You’re late, Morrison,” Gabriel calls out, folding his arms and making sure to appear thoroughly unimpressed by the other’s entrance.

 

Jack shakes himself out of his head and lifts his hand in a curt wave. He’s at least got the gall to look guilty under Gabriel’s gaze as he slows to a walk.

 

“Hey, sorry about that,” he breathes. “I was on my way over, but then there was this old lady who looked like she was lost, so I stopped by to help her out.”

 

Gabriel has a time trying to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Of course Mr. Do No Harm’s out here with a noble excuse for his tardiness, helping out old ladies and shit. It’s cliché enough to silently ask God if this entire semester is just a spell of dramatic irony.

 

“Well hurry up then, don’t wanna keep the freshies waiting,” Gabriel responds gruffly, pushing himself to his feet and picking up his backpack. As he does so, he feels his stomach quiver with the hint of hunger. Damn, he should’ve packed a snack. There’s no telling how long this little consultation will take.

 

Jack pays little attention to the impatience that’s laced in Gabriel’s tone as he jogs up the steps to the one Gabriel had just been sitting on, then slows his pace so they’re both mounting the last of the stairs in tandem.

 

“They’re freshmen?” Jack questions, both eyebrows raised to his hairline. “We’re meeting freshmen engineering students?”

 

“Yep,” Gabriel answers, tugging the glass door to the engineering school open and stepping aside to let the other boy through first. He follows close behind and nearly walks right into Jack’s broad back as the other abruptly stops in his tracks.

 

Now Gabriel is about the same height as Jack, but considering they’re both also quite well built, Gabriel still has to peer around Jack’s shoulder to survey the cause of disturbance at the same time that Jack says,

 

“Oh, hey, you must be—uh…”

 

“Fareeha,” Gabriel finishes for him, donning on a grin that attempts to proficiently mix innocence with a pinch of fondness.

 

In front of them, leaning against a wall featuring an impressive display of engineering and research accomplishments by the faculty and alumni of the school, is a tall, brown-skinned girl with jet-black hair cropped just above her shoulders and a scowl that scarily mirrors one Gabriel is already too familiar with.

 

“You’re late, Gabriel,” she says in the same impatient and matter-of-fact voice that Gabriel had used with Jack earlier. Her only acknowledgement of Jack is a brief glance in his direction before turning her annoyed glare back at him.

 

“Hey, it was this guy’s fault, not mine,” Gabriel counters as he steps around Jack, barely hesitating to throw the other guy under the bus, at which Jack frowns and opens his mouth to protest. Gabriel doesn’t give him the chance to do so. “Besides, we’re only fifteen minutes late. It’s like you’re tenth day of classes, how busy could you possibly be?”

 

“It still looks bad, you know,” Fareeha grumbles with a huff, rocking off the wall and onto the center of her feet. “This is a huge favor I’m pulling for you guys.”

 

“It looks bad in general or it makes _you_ look bad in front of this Vaswani girl?” Gabriel teases, grin wide, unable to resist taking the jab at Fareeha. She’s Ana’s little sister, so Gabriel’s always assumed he has older-sibling teasing rights by proxy.

 

Fareeha’s eyes widen and her lips part slightly in embarrassment. She recovers relatively quickly, however, and proceeds to squint her eyes at Gabriel, passing along the silent threat to obliterate him right then and there if he says anything further on the subject.

 

“You and Ana are the worst,” she finally mutters, turning away from the two boys to start making her way down the hallway.

 

Gabriel merely snickers in response, and if Jack has caught onto any of what had been implied, his only indication of it is a raised eyebrow when he catches Gabriel’s eye. A ghost of a grin still lingers on Gabriel’s lips, but he says nothing. Instead, he shrugs and tilts his head in Fareeha’s direction, indicating that they should follow her

 

“So how’s your freshman year going so far, Lil Amari?” Gabriel asks with a conversational tone, though the point of the question is to get a rise out of the girl, not a genuine answer.

 

It works.

 

“Don’t call me that,” Fareeha declares, whipping around to face Gabriel and Jack while continuing to lumber through the spacious atrium of the school backwards.

 

“Okay then, how about ‘Tiny Amari’?” Gabriel poses.

 

“Why can’t you just call me Fareeha?” she protests.

 

“Now why would I do that? Hm, maybe ‘Baby Amari’?”

 

“Reyes, I swear— “

 

“I dunno,” Jack interrupts, looking thoughtful, and Gabriel braces himself to get chewed out by the Goody Two-Shoes for going too far. However, when Jack tosses a sideways glance his way, it’s really hard to miss the mischievous gleam tracing his blue eyes. Gabriel’s grinning before Jack even speaks—and before he himself realizes it.

 

“I kinda like the sound of Special A. You know, like the cereal?” Jack suggests, unable to keep his own grin out of his voice, like he’s gonna burst out laughing any time soon because of how many daggers Fareeha’s shooting him with her eyes. “Or Special F, if you prefer.”

 

Jack may have been able to keep it together for the most part, only letting a few restrained giggles slip through, but Gabriel outright guffaws at the nickname proposal, and they both earn the full ire of Fareeha Amari.

 

“I swear I will cancel this meeting right now and you two are gonna be on your own with your little robot project, or so help me,” Fareeha challenges, standing in front of them like an unmoving boulder. Her arms are crossed, her glare is sharp, and Gabriel has no trouble at all equating her and Ana as siblings. Ana is a terrifying force when she wants to be—hardened steel, sharp and piercing—and Fareeha follows close behind. Immovable earth, hard and bruising.

 

“Fine, fine, fine, we’ll stop, just get us to the library already,” Gabriel surrenders, arms in the air to signal a truce.

 

Fareeha stands tall and gives them a definitive and victorious nod, then whips right back around and proceeds to lead them further into the building. As the three of them make their way to the designated meeting spot, Gabriel catches Jack eyeing him out of the corner of his eye. The remnants of amusement are still tugging at the corner of his lips, and Gabriel can’t help but feel oddly elated over that brief moment of solidarity they’d shared. It’d been unspoken, unplanned, yet a common understanding all the same that stood out _because_ Gabriel doesn’t have a clear judgement of his project partner. If their partnership were to be represented as a spectrum, the dial would have shifted a centimeter towards friendly.

 

The moment they descend the staircase that leads to the library and Fareeha yanks the door open for them, the trio are hit with a blast of unnecessarily cold AC. As it turns out, the engineering library is in the basement of the building and not nearly as glamorous as the rest of it had been. Where the entrance of the school had been large glass windows, a spacious atrium, and the epitome of modern, minimalistic architecture, the library is a humid bunker crammed with wooden study tables in every nook and cranny that didn’t already house a shelf of books. Goosebumps begin to form on Gabriel’s arms due to the sudden artificial chill, and he can tell this is the kind of space that is simply too cold in the warmer months and too hot during the colder ones.

 

Fareeha weaves them through a series of tables before making a beeline for a four-person study table tucked away behind two shelves in the back corner of the library. Situated at the table is a girl with her nose in an ungodly large textbook, highlighter in hand, and thick, black hair cascading down the curve of her back. She seems strangely unfazed by the cold, a fierce concentration lining her dark features that could definitely rival Jack’s.

 

“Satya!” Fareeha calls as they approach. The girl—Satya—doesn’t stir, giving no sign that she’s heard Fareeha. Focus seems to be her superpower.

 

In fact, she doesn’t look up to acknowledge her visitors until after Fareeha pulls out the chair next to Satya and sits down, motioning for Gabriel and Jack to do the same.

 

“Satya, I present to you our charity case of the semester, Gabriel and—uh, sorry, I didn’t catch your name…” Fareeha trails off, looking pointedly at Jack.

 

“Uh, oh, Jack,” Jack replies, slightly thrown off, and Gabriel briefly wonders if the guy’s not really used to introducing himself anymore because most people usually recognize him right off the bat.

 

“Gabriel and Jack,” Fareeha reiterates.

 

“Pleasure,” Satya greets, though she shares an almost indiscernible smirk with Fareeha before actually facing the two of them. This causes Gabriel’s ego to sputter indignantly. He’s a _senior_ for god’s sake, he shouldn’t be sitting here and getting judged like this by _freshmen._

 

Just one more reason to add to his mental list of _Why I Think This Robotics Class Is Stupid._

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with us,” Jack says diplomatically. “We really could use your help.”

 

“Fareeha bribed me with lunch from that Korean-Mexican food truck, and I couldn’t say no,” Satya replies, and though she is simply being straightforward and there is no hint of teasing or flirting in her voice, it’s hard to miss Fareeha’s cheeks and the tips of her ears darken beside her.

 

“See, I _told_ you that food truck is the shit,” Gabriel chides, nudging Jack in the arm with his help, to which Jack replies with a roll of his eyes in an _“okay, okay, I get it”_ fashion.

 

“So you’re trying to build a robot or something?” Satya asks, and Gabriel really appreciates how straight to the point she is. It’s becoming very clear that the girl’s got no time for any bullshit.

 

Jack nods and pulls out the notebook he’d taken notes in. He launches into a description of their preliminary vision, and Gabriel takes that as a queue to dig into his own backpack and draw out his design sketches. He’d done them on several sheets of wax paper and has to work to smooth them so that his lines and notes beside them look legible before sliding them across the table. When Satya and Fareeha both reach for the drawings, Jack stops midway through his sentence to lean in and take a gander at them as well.

 

“Holy cow, you’re an actual artist, Reyes,” he comments, clearly quite impressed at Gabriel’s handiwork.

 

Gabriel merely shrugs and folds his arms. He’s got a steady hand and a good grasp on how lines and shapes work, but he’s never really seen it as art. More like a handy tool to make it through an Architecture degree.

 

“Comes with the major,” is all he says. “Tell her about the light-up idea.”

 

He can tell Jack is disappointed in his lack of enthusiasm over his own craft by the way his brow furrows in the same way it did back when Gabriel had suggested leg day as an issue to fix. The expression doesn’t linger for too long, however, and Jack is quickly back to relaying the rest of their project ideas. It’s reassuring to know that the guy’s got some sense of priorities. Not that Jack Morrison judging him for not being more proud of his art bothered Gabriel or anything.

 

“So is everyone else struggling with this project as well? If you’re not engineers and it’s that hard, it doesn’t seem very fair,” Satya comments when Jack is finished speaking.

 

“It’s an introductory robotics class,” Fareeha supplies, leaning against the table’s surface with an elbow and resting her cheek on her fist, looking smug.

 

“Ah,” Satya responds, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. “So you’re just seniors with a brain fart.”

It really shouldn’t feel so shameful because, yes, they’re seniors and senioritis is a real, true, and well-earned plague, but when Satya calls them out on it, it’s like she’s caught them foolishly walking into a trap. She’s a dangerous one just like Fareeha, and Gabriel briefly remarks that the two of them are like fire playing with fire. Or rather like water and fire. Complimentary and brute forces of nature regardless.

 

“In a class we’re not in by choice. So you gonna help us or not?” Gabriel sighs, slouching in his chair and spreading his legs in an attempt to get comfortable in the freakishly high air conditioning. He’s decided he really does not like this library and would like to get out of it as quickly as possible. There’s a new pity for engineering students that settles in his heart.

 

Satya nods and takes another glance at the designs laid out before her.

 

“Your idea is practical but not very functional,” she says bluntly. “There’s absolutely no way you’ll be able to build a simple robot with all of those functions and fit it into one of these designs. You need to simplify the idea.”

 

Jack blinks, slightly taken aback.

 

“Isn’t the idea already simple enough? It’s just a reminder robot,” he refutes.

 

“The concept may be simple, but the functions aren’t,” Satya states, a pinch of authority wafting into her tone as she slides the wax paper sketches back, chin up. “I suggest picking only one of the things you want it to do. Otherwise it’s a useless project idea.”

 

The declaration, though its one prompting them to make their idea _easier_ to work on, is disheartening because it feels like the two of them are being forced to take a half a step backwards from their one step forward over the weekend. Rethinking and reworking is a natural process that Gabriel as an Architecture major is familiar with, but that doesn’t make the whole thing any less frustrating.

 

Beside him, however, annoyance seems to break through Jack’s habitual relaxed demeanor—his shoulders tense and his mouth is now visibly bogged down into a disapproving frown—and Gabriel almost wants to laugh. The other boy is a good student, leader—being quarterback of the football team and all—and a receiver of essentially most societal privileges, so he likely isn’t used to other people dismissing his ideas as not being good enough. Especially this assertive Indian freshman girl.

 

“What if we kept helping you?” Fareeha suggests, an unlikely life buoy in this brewing storm of a situation. “You guys do most of the work, obviously, but Satya and I can keep guiding you.”

 

Satya turns to Fareeha, eyebrows raised.

 

“Oh, come on, you’re the one always complaining about how boring and theoretical the first year curriculum is,” Fareeha continues. “Besides, _look_ at them. They’ll flunk out of their class if we don’t intervene.”

 

As Satya considers the proposal, Gabriel eyes Fareeha. His attention to detail isn’t reserved for buildings and objects alone—he’s relatively proficient at deconstructing a person and their body language as well, breaking them down to the smallest of parts to read what they might actually be saying. And Fareeha, whether she knows it or not, is practically screaming _“please say yes.”_ If Gabriel had to guess, this might be her way of trying to orchestrate more opportunities to spend time with Satya. Gabriel roots for her and the power of love because it’s a socially acceptable thing to support while benefiting him as well.

 

“Fine,” Satya finally decides. “But _only_ if you do most of the work. I’m a new engineering student, not God.”

 

Gabriel holds off on voicing that he’d secretly hoped she’d be both.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says instead. “And we’ll owe you one, big time. Cash that favor in any time this year.”

 

“I’ll buy you dinner for a whole week,” Jack adds in agreement.

 

There’s a gleam in Satya’s dark eyes as she reaches forward again for the wax paper sketches.

 

“Make it two weeks, and it’s a done deal.”

 

Fareeha clasps her hands and sits up straight, brimming with enthusiasm and triumph.

 

“Perfect,” she exclaims. “So do Thursday afternoons continue to work for everyone? I know I’m gonna be pretty free around this time.”

 

The rest of them at the table nod, and it’s a miraculous feat that they’ve completely dodged trying to shoehorn meeting times into people’s schedules. Bless the freshman and senior life.

 

“But Fareeha, you’re civil engineering,” Satya interjects, frowning lightly. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

 

Fareeha deflates slightly but remains undeterred.

 

“I’ll be here for moral support and to make sure no one eats each other alive here,” she replies, shrugging. “And it’ll be an excuse to sit down and actually do the physics homework.”

 

Satya makes a face of disgust and the two of them launch into a frustrated tirade over their Physics 103 class, which gives Gabriel and Jack the opportunity to sit back and let out a breath of relief. They’ve somehow caught a lifeline in the middle of this whole mess, and they’re now resolved to hold onto it for dear life until this nightmare of a class comes to an end.

 

Jack folds his arms and turns to Gabriel with a most victorious grin illuminating his handsome face like he’s just won the championship game. A complete overreaction in Gabriel’s opinion—spending all your energy celebrating winning smaller battles when the war has yet to begin is a complete waste of effort—yet he’s somehow grinning back just as big all the same, like he’s been infected by whatever triumphant high Jack’s riding.

 

It’s a little weird, but he’ll allow it for now.

 

* * *

The four of them brainstorm for another hour or so, and after a quite a turbulent storm—they're all, it turns out, proud people with egos of similar sizes, and it becomes Fareeha's job to maintain an atmosphere of diplomacy—Gabriel and Jack finally emerge onto sunny shores with a refined and functional project idea. It’s actually quite a bit different from their original proposal, but it’s one that they’re happy to pitch as a solution to a universal issue and one that Satya (and Fareeha) is happy to work on as well.

 

Gabriel and Jack finally pack up to end the day and head home, making their farewells.

 

“See ya around, Lil Amari,” Gabriel says as he pushes his seat in, having already conveyed his gratitude and goodbyes to Satya. “Tell your sister I said hi.”

 

“You see her more than I do,” Fareeha answers, rolling her eyes and folding her arms. “And why can’t you just call me Fareeha, Gabe?”

 

The real answer is _“cuz I don’t know you like that”_ but all he says is, “Because you are the little Amari.”

 

Fareeha rolls her eyes once more, but resigns herself to the nickname for now.

 

As the two boys exit the library, however, and _finally_ climb back up to a normal climate, Gabriel catches Jack eyeing him with a look of someone attempting to analyze data to reach a conclusion.

 

“You got something to say?” Gabriel challenges gruffly, a little ticked off by the sudden scrutiny.

 

“Why do you do that?” Jack asks without hesitating, like the question had already been bursting at his very seams.

 

“Do what?”

 

“Call people by their last names. You refuse to call me anything but Morrison, you call your lab partner Shimada, and even Fareeha. You said you’re friends with her sister, but still call Fareeha by her last name,” Jack replies, keenly relaying his observations. “Why do you do it?”

Gabriel comes to a halt and turns his body to face Jack, his face steely as he looks the other up and down as if trying to decipher just how this guy keeps finding the audacity to push this far. Gabriel knows _exactly_ why he calls people by their last names—he does it very intentionally. To him, voicing a person’s first name out loud is the equivalent of declaring a deep sense of trust. It’s incredibly personal to him. People who call him Gabriel are the people he feels at ease around, and those who refer to him as Gabe are the ones he’s let down most of his walls for, the ones with permission to touch his soul. And it works the other way as well, which is why he doesn’t call anybody by their first name unless he’s ready to let them call him Gabriel as well. Admittedly, awarding such an honor is a bit rare, with only Ana and Jesse wielding that small power—Olivia’s getting there, but not quite yet—and he is 100% okay with that.

 

Things are easier, simpler this way: fewer strings, fewer commitments.

 

Of course, Gabriel doesn’t reveal any of that to Jack. He has no obligations to. The other boy is still Morrison, and Gabriel’s fairly certain it’ll remain that way.

 

“Habit,” is all Gabriel gives him.

 

Jack’s disappointment doesn’t escape Gabriel, though this form of disappointment is less judgmental and more one of being genuinely let down, like he’d been sure the line was going to catch, but none of the fish took the bait anyway. Studying the other, Gabriel is once again in awe of how much Jack seemingly loves to wear his heart on his sleeve, putting all of himself into whatever emotion he’s currently feeling. How has the guy made it through 21 years of his life without getting eaten alive?

 

“Guess those are hard to break,” Jack says after a few second have elapsed, finally giving away under Gabriel’s stare and moving away from the subject. Then he clears his throat and straightens his back. “Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask, you planning on coming to the game this Saturday?”

 

The conversation’s sudden change in direction throws Gabriel off a bit.

 

“Uh, nah,” he answers, blinking a few times. “Haven’t been to a game since freshman year. The sports pass is so fuckin overpriced.”

 

“Wait, seriously? I was back-up quarterback freshman year, which means you haven’t seen me play yet!” Jack exclaims. “I’m pretty sure that violates every team bonding rule in the book, so you’re gonna come to a game this semester. Also, school spirit.”

 

“Wait, what—no,” Gabe sputters, completely thrown off by Jack’s sudden onslaught of ‘team bonding.’ Hadn’t he just made it clear that they weren’t good friends? Though, considering Jack’s nature and the fact that he’s the captain of a _team sport,_ that probably just looked like a giant invitation to him. “Didn’t I just tell you the tickets are too expensive? I’ll just catch it on ESPN or something—”

 

“I’ll get you tickets,” Jack interrupts, readjusting his backpack on his shoulders. “Come whichever weekend works best for you.”

 

The word “no” is resting on the tip of Gabriel’s tongue ready to be paired with the most incredulous looking expression he can muster—because where the _fuck_ is this sudden display of camaraderie coming from—but Jack is looking at him so sincere and eager that Gabriel actually feels a twinge of _guilt_ for wanting to refuse him. Because it’ll feel like kicking a puppy, obviously.

 

“Fine. You can give me the tickets,” he relents, though that’s all he gives Jack. He’s careful not to make it sound like a commitment. He can always claim he’d simply been too busy to make it to the game if he needs to.

 

When Jack beams at his response, Gabriel swears the already well-lit atrium of the engineering school brightens a little more.

 

“Perfect, I’ll email you a link. If I nail a perfect Hail Mary, you have to call me Jack,” he says, walking past Gabriel to pull open one of the building’s glass doors. He motions for Gabriel to go on ahead.

 

Gabriel eyes Jack wearily and snorts.

 

“You wish,” he grunts, taking Jack’s silent invitation and walking through the doors, out into the still sunny California evening.

 

He very purposefully makes his words sound like he’s accepting a challenge, which, in truth, he actually is. Ever since they’ve become acquainted, Jack’s been issuing small provocations to coax Gabriel out of that metaphorical fortress of his, and Gabriel is having none of it. He’ll be damned if he lets this golden white boy throw him off his perfectly paved path of college survival to graduation.

 

It’s become a game of tug of war, and Jack’s just yanked at the rope with a burst of strength, so it’s Gabriel’s turn to hold his ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack: [already kinda crushing on Gabe, attempts to ask him out]  
> Gabe: alexa who is this clown
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://sunmp3.tumblr.com) and [twitter.](http://twitter.com/satyasvaswani)  
> Battle.net: chai#11326


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